


Not Tomorrow

by Twigo



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, Romance, domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:00:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 30
Words: 152,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27376849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twigo/pseuds/Twigo
Summary: AU. Alfred has been a bodyguard for a long time, and he knew all of the rules. The greatest being, of course, never fall in love with a client. But it was hard not to break that rule when Ludwig was really everything Alfred had ever looked for. One big problem : Ludwig is married, and Alfred was hired to protect him from his own crazy husband. AmeGer, RusGer, PruLiet
Relationships: America/Germany (Hetalia), Germany/Russia (Hetalia), Lithuania/Prussia (Hetalia)
Comments: 251
Kudos: 196





	1. Between the Moons

**Author's Note:**

> A/N : I'm sorry. I should finish other stuff, I know. But this was eating my brain alive.
> 
> Warnings! : AU. Human characters. Set in present day NYC. Domestic abuse, mentions of character death, a too-close look at terminal illnesses, some drug use. AmeGer, RusGer, some side PruLiet ('cause you know me), mentions of fem!Canada, some cameos here and there from the Ita bros and others. Only one pairing can triumph in the end, but I cannot say which one.
> 
> You guys know me well enough to know that I like my 'villains' to be rather ambiguous and sometimes sympathetic, and this is no different. This isn't a good vs. evil story, so never fear my dear RusGer fans. It's really just an observation of some normal-ish people finding themselves in situations beyond their control and the conflicting ways they deal with it. As always, thanks for hanging in here with me in this most unusual year from hell.
> 
> I can't say this is a happy story, but I can't exactly say it's a sad one. It's just... I dunno. People doing dumb people things.
> 
> Chinese translation by Sicco-Yang here : https://i-dont-have-the-answers-u-need.lofter.com/post/4b461f66_1cb9b4df5

**NOT TOMORROW**

* * *

**Chapter 1**

**Between the Moons**

Being a bodyguard could either be miserable or interesting, depending entirely on the client who he at any given moment happened to be protecting.

Most times, Alfred found it leaned towards the miserable side of the scale.

Honest to god, Alfred had never really liked himself much, and in these past ten years or so his self-worth had hit rock bottom. He hated the majority of his clients, because they were shitty people and that made Alfred feel like one, too.

Money was money in the end, but some money seemed far more well-earned.

Alfred was just a country boy, a Southerner, that had wound his way up north over the years and ended up in the craziest city in the world. New York was a far cry from home, and Alfred hated it as much as he hated himself. Lived in a neighborhood as shifty and shitty as his clientele, and there he probably belonged.

Alfred wasn't very afraid to say that he hated himself, if only to himself.

Useless.

He had grown up wanting to be a grand hero in some sense or another, and had become rather the opposite. Had let himself and his mother down, had let his sister down, had let his entire community down, and it was probably all in Alfred's head because no one else had ever said it aloud but it was very pressing all the same.

He had fled, and landed himself in this awful life.

Stuck in this rut.

Thirty and living paycheck to paycheck, and those paychecks came from men he hated. Hated every single person he protected, because they were scum. Hated them all, and was reliant upon them for money. This hadn't been what he had had in mind when he had ended up in this profession. He had thought he would have been more of a savior, a protector, and instead he was really just a creep guarding another creep from creepier creeps. Nothing honorable at all. The same cycle.

Wanted to go _home_ , desperately so, but just couldn't bring himself to face everyone after what had happened there. Homesick, so homesick, and couldn't do a damn thing about it. His 'home' now was this New York slum. He missed the sandy beach, the dunes and the coast and the humid air, missed the people and the different pace of life in the South. Missed the smell of the air. He hated it here, and was stuck.

Alfred looked in the mirror, and hated what he saw there, too. Other people may have seen a handsome young man, blond and blue-eyed, broad and strong, in the prime of his life, virile and masculine and ready to take on the world. Just a Southern man, alright, with that square jaw and broad cheeks and that slight accent, a simple man, perhaps, but a good one.

But Alfred just saw a scared, helpless idiot that had gotten lost in the tide, a man who had failed to protect the one thing that he had ever been charged with protecting. Someone who pretended to be cocky and arrogant because they were scared and alone and so overwhelmed. Defeated. Just drifting along now in the water.

He hated himself, and started hating the world for it.

Homesick.

And then one day in the middle of fall he got a phone call, completely out of the blue, requesting an 'audience' with him for potential retention of his services. Alfred had immediately gone, because if there was one thing he had learned very early on, it was that the guys who 'requested an audience' paid a hell of a lot more than the guys who wanted to 'meet up'.

The guy that wanted to retain Alfred's services, as it turned out, was Gilbert Beilschmidt, and Alfred had balked.

Gilbert Beilschmidt was the President and CEO of an extremely powerful and influential aerospace company. They produced weapons for many countries, research machines for NASA, designed ever more creative exploration devices, dabbled in a little of everything. In some sense, one could say that Gilbert owned a bit of the world, and the fact that he had ever thought to call a guy like Alfred was utterly astounding.

Alfred had leapt on the opportunity, scared to death but so excited.

He cleaned himself up for once, standing in front of the mirror and combing his dark blond hair, brushing it out of his eyes and to the side, shining his glasses and pressing his shirt, cleaning his shoes.

He looked nice, and hoped he would make the right impression, because he couldn't afford to miss out on this paycheck—literally. Was scraping by, and even his slum apartment was just too expensive for him to afford. He was in debt, he was destitute, and he was run down.

Needed this money.

So he went where he was told, a skyscraper near the Battery, and followed the instructions into the shining building and into the elevator.

It wasn't too often men like him were hired by tremendously important people, not at all, so Alfred took it and ran because the ego trip was even better than the pay. When the elevator stopped and the doors opened, it was a little surreal, a little crazy, and Alfred was jittery and terrified, puffing out like a peacock in order to hide the fact that he felt more like a confused chicken.

The door to Gilbert's office seemed daunting, made more so by the two suits guarding it. Two stocky, hairy men that had to be Italian for sure, Mafioso lookin' creeps, and Alfred had stared them down as they eyed him disdainfully. They must have been expecting him, though, because they opened the door and let him pass after checking his identification.

Gilbert sat there in front of the huge glass windows at his desk, and Alfred had been struck by the sight of him. So pale, the whitest thing Alfred had ever seen, an albino in real life, pale blond hair lit up white in the sun. Standing beside of him, hand on the desk and brow high, was another man with dark hair, unknown to Alfred.

Gilbert sure was intimidating, his extremely expensive suit rather lustrous in the light. Looked like some sort of spectacular lunar villain, if he were honest, and Alfred cracked a nervous smile at that.

Gilbert wasn't smiling, as he curled his lip and looked Alfred up and down with as much scrutiny as the guards outside, and Alfred came to a halt a polite distance in front of the desk. A very long, very intense stare, and when there was only silence, Alfred finally said, lowly, "You called?"

The brunet glanced down at Gilbert, but Gilbert was ever silent, big hands clasped before him as he tried to burn Alfred alive with his eyes alone. The judging from Gilbert's unique and unnerving eyes was quite grating, and Alfred was already irritated, agitated, glancing around the office and waiting.

This place was huge, and so empty. Black floor and black desk. Marble and granite, white flecks reflecting in the obsidian.

Oh yeah, this guy was some kinda super villain alright.

Those red-tinted eyes gleaming away like that.

Gilbert spoke then, but not to Alfred, instead leaning towards the man standing beside of him and hissing away. The brunet and Gilbert spoke lowly back and forth, and Alfred could only catch a few words here and there.

"—sure about this?"

"Well—looked good."

"—this is—my little _brother_!"

Alfred waited as patiently as was possible for him, shifting his weight and eyeing the exorbitant office, and finally, Gilbert looked back at Alfred and spoke to him at last.

"You are not what I expected."

The accent was very thick, very rough and gruff, and Alfred almost hadn't understood. Gilbert was a German, after all, as much as his company, and his English wasn't stellar. Perhaps the man beside of him was an emergency translator.

Not what Gilbert had expected, eh? Ha—maybe Alfred cleaning up before coming had worked against him.

To appear more in control than he felt, Alfred lifted his chin and offered, "Sorry. I polished up because I thought you wouldn't want anyone raggedy walking behind you."

A sneer, and Gilbert was quick to scoff, "It's not me you'll be protecting." Alfred glanced over at the brunet beside of Gilbert, expecting perhaps that it was he who Alfred would potentially be guarding, but Gilbert merely muttered, lowly, "It will be my little brother."

Alfred looked back and forth between Gilbert and the brunet, and said, casually, "Don't see much resemblance."

Stony, cranky Gilbert was very much not amused, but the brunet gave a laugh and came forward briefly, to hold something out. Alfred took it, and saw that it was a photograph of a pale, young, blond man. In that man, he could perhaps see a bit of a resemblance, if only at a glance.

Gilbert's little brother, huh? What kind of trouble had the kid gotten himself into? Alfred hadn't really known there was a second Beilschmidt. Must have been behind the scenes, not the face of his brother's company.

Power corrupts, or so they said. The kid probably had some bad habit that had gotten him mixed up with the wrong crowd. Drugs, gambling, whatever. Saw it every day. Had been here a thousand times already.

"Does he work here, too?" Alfred asked, curiously, as the brunet seemed to be hovering over Gilbert, perhaps to keep tempers in check.

Gilbert seemed a bit rowdy, impulsive, brash, and Alfred was, too, so the man was wise to moderate perhaps.

"Yes," the brunet answered, when Gilbert was silent, apparently finding Alfred most displeasing.

What a jerk of a boss this man would make. Fitting, Alfred supposed, given how much he consistently and fervently hated every single one of his clients. Very fitting.

This powerful, rich, egotistical jerkoff. Great.

The guy in the picture looked pretty young, though, just a kid after all, and Alfred asked, offhandedly, "How old is he?"

"Twenty-five," the brunet supplied, as Gilbert stared Alfred into filth.

Older than he had thought, or it was an old photo.

Alfred stared back at forty-something Gilbert, and didn't know why he said, "That's some age difference."

Nerves, probably.

Snappily, Gilbert spat, "We have the same father. Different mothers. Not that that's any of your business."

The brunet's heavily-lashed eyes flitted back and forth airily between Gilbert and Alfred, a rather bemused expression on his face, perhaps finding this altercation entertaining.

Agitation was growing, Alfred was anxious and annoyed, and so he handed the photo back to the brunet, met Gilbert's burning gaze, and said, testily, "It is my damn business if you want me to protect him. What's your problem? You gonna hire me or not, asshole?"

Gilbert leapt upright from his seat, slammed a fist on his desk, and barked, in a very deep, frightening voice, "Mind your mouth! How dare you speak to me like that!"

Gilbert owned the world and clearly he knew it, because he sure as hell acted that way, expecting everyone around him to grovel and concede to his whim. Alfred wouldn't, no matter how badly he needed the money. His ego and arrogance and pride would one day be his downfall. Alfred didn't like himself, nah, but he hated other people more.

Alfred held his hands out at his sides, brazenly, and shot back, "I don't work for you yet, you prick! I'll talk to you however I want!"

Gilbert's pale face flushed red with anger, he opened his mouth, but was cut short when the mystery brunet stepped forward and rested a hand on his shoulder. A glance, a pursing of Gilbert's lips, and suddenly Gilbert sat back down, as the brunet came forward, arms crossing and brow high.

"You've got an attitude, for sure," came the deep mutter, with a less prominent and yet different accent, and Alfred scoffed.

"What did you expect? You wanted a pushover? There aren't a lot of those in my line of work."

The brunet snorted, looked him up and down, analyzing him, and after an eternity, he turned back to Gilbert and called, somewhat warmly, "I like him, Gilbert. I think it's a good decision. You know I'm a better judge of character than you."

Gilbert cursed under his breath, ran a hand over the bridge of his nose, and seemed in contemplation.

Alfred's heart was hammering as he awaited the final verdict.

Please, please, _really_ needed this money—

A sigh, a scoff, a noise of irritation, and Gilbert lowered his hand, opened his eyes, and said, begrudgingly, "Alright. Alright. You're hired." Alfred had no time to inwardly celebrate, because Gilbert suddenly locked his gaze, and hissed, in the honest to god most dangerous whisper Alfred had ever heard, "But I swear— If anything happens to him, you are not getting fired. You are getting _annihilated_. I swear to you. I'll take you out myself. No one will ever even know you existed. This is my little brother. He means everything to me. You protect him with your life, because if he loses his, you lose yours. Got it?"

A chill, an involuntary shiver, just at the sincerity with which the oath had been spoken, but Alfred was rather fearless and confident and merely nodded his head.

That was that, apparently, and Gilbert waved him forward and they began doing business.

...sort of.

Details were _very_ vague, and after a half hour or so of briefing, Alfred was still a bit in the dark. He was protecting Gilbert's younger brother, Ludwig, and that was about all he knew, with only that photo given to him to guide him in the right direction. Gilbert, for being so concerned, was being incredibly secretive, and when Alfred had asked for a more thorough explanation, Gilbert had merely grumbled, irritably, 'You'll have to ask Ludwig for more details. Just keep him safe.'

Well. Alright, then.

Alfred didn't argue, didn't complain, because he was on retainer now and it was the best paycheck he had had in all his time doing this, so he just took Ludwig's photo from Gilbert's hand and marched right on out to track him down.

This kid was a literal payday. Alfred was damn sure gonna keep him safe, come hell or high water.

On his way out of the office, one of the guards snatched out and grabbed Alfred by the arm. Alfred was ready to pitch a fit, but was denied the chance when the guard merely smiled at him, and asked, with yet another heavy accent, "You the guy that's gonna be protecting Ludovico?"

"Who?" Alfred asked, dumbly.

"Ludovico. The little brother."

Oh. Yeah.

Alfred just grunted, "Guess so."

The two guards shared a look, the other appearing far less friendly than his counterpart, and the one grabbing Alfred's arm just gave him a pat on the back and said, firmly, "Keep a good eye on him. He's my friend. He's a really good guy."

Without thinking, Alfred griped, "So the apple fell far from the tree, huh?"

A look of confusion, as the idiom clearly went over that Italian head, and Alfred just shook him off and made to leave.

He called, as he went, "He's in good hands."

If only not to lose this job before he really had it.

He fled into the elevator, and just glimpsed the guard smiling as the doors closed.

Honestly, Alfred wasn't at all interested in Ludwig as a person, not at all. He was only a paycheck, and that was that. The kid coulda been a saint, but it made no difference in the end to Alfred.

As he trotted back out into the street, he held the photo up and examined it, and had been a bit pleasantly surprised to see that the younger brother was extremely easy on his eyes. That always made work a little more bearable. At a glance, at least, the kid was certainly attractive. Could see a little of Gilbert there, in the nose and cheeks, but in the photo at least Ludwig looked far more approachable than Gilbert. Much more handsome. Prettier, one could say perhaps.

Cute kid, alright.

Hell—maybe this job would include benefits if he were lucky. He may not have cared about Ludwig, no, but he was only a man.

Getting way ahead of himself. As usual.

He was lonely, what could he say?

Probably should have actually settled in first, though, so Alfred just went to the area in which Gilbert had informed him Ludwig could be found, near the library, and he roamed the streets for a few minutes, scanning the crowds and eyeing faces.

Didn't take him too long to find Ludwig, if only because he certainly stood out quite a bit.

Tall and so pale, Ludwig was certainly a bit eye-catching, given his obvious air of dignity and poise (a bit more elegant than his pompous brother), chiseled bone structure, platinum hair, pretty eyes—ah, yes, very eye-catching indeed, and Alfred was on him in a second, weaving through the crowds and slinking up behind Ludwig without a sound.

Just followed him then, for a while, choosing to delay introductions.

Anyway, Ludwig seemed quite intent, was walking very briskly and very quickly, and Alfred was having difficulty keeping up because, well...Ludwig's legs were criminal. Really. Incredibly long, those legs, and Alfred didn't even really care then that he was all but jogging, because the show he was getting in the form of those legs well made up for it. Was glad that Ludwig's coat was short enough not to hide the goods, sleeves rolled up and appearing far less glamorous in his manner of dress than his brother.

But those legs!

Good lord. Talk about gams.

Erhm—! Still, business was business, and Alfred eventually managed to remove his eyes from Ludwig's posterior long enough to scope out the surroundings for threats. Kinda hard when he didn't know who, exactly, he needed to look out for. Gilbert had been so vague, hadn't explained a damn thing, so Alfred just looked around blindly, and tried his best.

But Ludwig, appearing quite paranoid and anxious, had noticed Alfred following him somehow, and quickened his already furious pace. He darted into a side street when Alfred sped up, and when Alfred lunged quickly after his charge, he found their roles suddenly reversed.

Pale hands snatched out and clenched him by the collar, and in a second Alfred had been pinned up against the brick wall, but only because Alfred had let him. Couldn't raise a hand against his client, after all. Very counterproductive.

Stunned more by that handsome face than the actual maneuver, Alfred just stared at Ludwig, who seemed somehow terrified and furious.

A low hiss.

"Stop following me! Go away! Leave me alone."

Ludwig's accent wasn't as thick as Gilbert's, because Ludwig had come across the sea at a much younger age than Gilbert had. Much easier to understand, much smoother on the ears, much less harsh. Ludwig's voice was as deep as his brother's, but far warmer, lacking that gruff, guttural edge that Gilbert's had. A nice voice for a nice face.

It was then, close up and held in Ludwig's grip, that Alfred could get a true, good look at Ludwig, in the flesh.

Much sharper and sterner up close than he was in that photo. Looked older. Tired. Scared. Worn and a little frazzled. Up close, it was easier to see the dark circles hanging under Ludwig's pale eyes, the crease of exhaustion in his brow, the wan shade of his skin. Little freckles here and there. Pale stubble, glinting in the low light. That heavy veil of defeat that just seemed to hang over him. So pale, almost as pale as his albino brother. Pale as the moon, these brothers, so similar and yet so different.

Ludwig had nothing of the air of his elder brother.

Looked like a man whose last nerve had been absolutely frayed, and Alfred felt the first twinge of pity, if only because Ludwig seemed so scared in that moment despite being in the aggressive position. Had just lashed out from terror, and Alfred was quite unbothered.

Somehow, it was easy enough to look at Ludwig right off and see that he just didn't have the heart to cause harm. Was tall and broad, rather well built, lean muscle, somewhat intimidating at a glance, and yet it was written there on his face and in his eyes that Ludwig was utterly harmless. Vulnerable, in that sense, that intangible naivety. Just a kid, Gilbert's sheltered little brother, who was in trouble and was cracking under pressure.

To soothe jittery Ludwig, Alfred uttered, as calmly as was possible, "I was hired to follow you. Everything is alright."

The wrong thing to say, perhaps, as Ludwig's pupils dilated in what was clearly a burst of fear, and Alfred could see the hair on Ludwig's exposed forearms standing up in fright.

Perhaps he should have been more specific, and meant to correct himself, but Ludwig beat him to the chase, giving Alfred a desperate shake and pleading more than demanding, "Stop! Leave me alone! Go back to Ivan and tell him you never saw me, please, leave me _alone_ —"

Ivan?

Ludwig seemed close to panic, and Alfred finally got a word in to say, more sternly, "I was hired by Gilbert. I'm here to keep you safe. Don't worry."

A crinkle of Ludwig's brow, a flash of confusion, and Alfred assumed that Ludwig was going to let him go, was going to welcome him, was going to be relieved. Happy.

He wasn't.

Ludwig just breathed, "I don't believe you."

Alfred smirked, despite it all, and grumbled, "Good boy."

Perhaps not so naïve.

Alfred didn't like himself much, but had confidence to spare, and spread his feet then in a posture of arrogance, perhaps in a subconscious effort to make Ludwig bow to him.

Kinda worked. Sort of.

Anyway, Ludwig let him go, but didn't resume his walk. Rather, Ludwig reached into his coat pocket, pulled out his phone, and made a call. From where he stood, Alfred recognized Gilbert's gruff voice on the other end. Couldn't understand, though, as Ludwig raised his voice at his half-brother in German, so he could only gather what he could from the flitting expressions and emotions on Ludwig's face.

Seemed so tired. Poor thing. Wished he knew what was going on.

Had to get Ludwig to sit down long enough to explain it to him.

Whatever was being said, Ludwig was clearly not happy, and neither was Gilbert, who was screaming; Alfred could clearly hear his booming voice all the way against the wall. In the end, this rather kind-looking man conceded to his domineering, belligerent sibling, and hung up the phone. A glance up at Alfred through pale lashes, and without another word Ludwig stalked back out into the street. It was clear that he was trying very hard to leave Alfred behind.

He failed, miserably, because Alfred was damn good at his job.

But when Ludwig reached what was apparently his home, a rather quaint looking brownstone on a quiet, unassuming street, a very far cry from the luxury Alfred expected, Ludwig escaped him and locked him out.

Eh.

Alfred placed himself there by the front door, planted his feet, and stayed put, keeping a vigil on Ludwig's door as he had been ordered to.

He caught flashes of movement in his peripheral vision from time to time, as Alfred spied Ludwig lifting the blinds to see if he was still there. Must have been disappointed, but Alfred wasn't going anywhere.

His livelihood depended on Ludwig's safety.

Ludwig never came back out, never spoke to him, and Alfred was unable to get the explanation he very much sought.

Oh well. Tomorrow was a new day. Plenty of time to get to know this kid and his unseen enemies.

Ludwig may have hated the sight of Alfred, but in the end that meant absolutely nothing, because Ludwig would never have found the sight of Alfred as distasteful as Alfred himself did.

Hated looking at himself.

The mirror was his worst enemy.


	2. Fear of Heights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N : These chapters will be of inconsistent length and schedule, but that's quite common for me, as you know. Bear with me please.

**Chapter 2**

**Fear of Heights**

Ludwig didn't come around at first, although by the third day it had gone from outwardly attempting to shoo Alfred off to begrudgingly accepting his presence. Silently. Coldly. Ludwig refused to look at him, wouldn't speak to him, and pretended that Alfred didn't exist.

Whatever—Alfred didn't give a shit about icy, bitchy Ludwig, as long as Gilbert paid him.

Alfred just watched Ludwig coming and going, and followed silently behind. He had watched over Ludwig the entire weekend, and had seen him only a handful of times. Had all but barricaded himself in his home, and Alfred's phone was blown up constantly by Gilbert, who was apparently as paranoid as Ludwig, texting Alfred every five minutes to ask if everything was alright.

Good lord, if anything happened to this kid, god forbid, Gilbert was gonna die of a heart attack before he could do Alfred in. Brotherly love on a crazy level, but one Alfred absolutely understood.

...just didn't want to think about it.

He tried to focus on Ludwig, to keep his mind from wandering too much.

Didn't know much at all about Ludwig still. Hadn't spoken to him at all, and knew only that Ludwig, far from having a powerful role in his brother's company, was an aeronautical engineer. Not in the sense that he built things by hand, no, but rather designed them. Wasn't a public face like Gilbert, and it was easy to miss Ludwig amongst the crowds.

Ludwig liked to be a wallflower, and was very good at it from what Alfred had seen so far.

Three damn days.

The third day was Monday, and Ludwig had no choice but to suffer Alfred as Alfred tailed him all the way to work. A walk to the subway, awkward minutes as Ludwig tried hard to ditch him and failed, and Alfred had been surprised that Ludwig used public transport at all, when Gilbert no doubt had a chauffer. Maybe Ludwig felt safer somehow in the subway, where it was harder to pinpoint one person. Wallflowers, after all.

Before long, they were back in the Battery. Back into that skyscraper, and Alfred hung behind as Ludwig arrived bright and early, but not exactly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and greeted those he passed. Alfred saw the two Italian guards, coffees in hand and arriving hurriedly, saw the brunet, who paused in the hall to give Ludwig a one-armed hug, but he didn't see Gilbert.

Ludwig looked so tired, rundown, and Alfred almost felt bad for him. Ludwig didn't seem to be living life so much as just pushing through it.

Too young for that.

When they walked into the elevator, Alfred didn't miss that Ludwig had punched the button to close the doors very quickly, as if he really thought he would be fast enough to lock Alfred out. Hardly; had to be quicker than that. Alfred was a big guy, yeah, stocky and heavy, but he was quick when he wanted to be.

Ludwig sneered over at him as the doors shut, and Alfred just watched the floors roll by.

Until the tenth floor passed, anyway, and the glass-backed elevator passed into the glass section of the building, and the entire city was visible. A long ride up, and Alfred enjoyed the view of the city gliding away beneath him.

The feeling was not mutual.

The entire elevator ride to the top, Ludwig kept himself turned into the corner, back to the glass and head tucked down, breathing very deeply and evenly. Didn't move at all until the elevator came to a stop, and even then it took him a good long second to open his eyes and move forward.

Couldn't be...

Alfred watched him, so intensely, following silently behind as Ludwig carried on down the hall, a bit unevenly at first but steadily regaining balance.

Vertigo?

And it made him an asshole, but Alfred laughed anyway.

From in front, a very testy, "What?"

He tried hard to stop laughing, he really did, but it was just so goddamn funny to him, so absurd, that he couldn't help it.

"You're afraid of heights, aren't you?" he asked, callously perhaps, and Ludwig's rather offended 'hmph!' and quicker pace was all the affirmation that Alfred needed.

How strange!

"An aeronautical engineer, afraid of heights! That's hilarious."

"I don't see the humor," Ludwig snapped back, walking quickly and testily. "Nor the connection. I build things that go up high—I don't follow them. Enjoying heights isn't a prerequisite for being in the field of aeronautics."

Sure did help, though.

Sounded quite offended indeed, so Alfred bit down his laughter, and conceded, "Alright, alright. Sorry. I just thought it was funny."

Ludwig ignored him.

They were on the fifty-second floor, and Alfred was surprised and yet not when he followed Ludwig through the office door and saw that every window was covered from top to bottom with very thick blinds, over-layered with even thicker curtains. Terrified of heights, indeed.

To make up for lack of sunlight, the lights were very bright.

This floor was white, and so was the desk. Small. A bit quaint. A little accent table in the corner that held models of rockets and satellites. A potted plant in the corner. Blueprints hanging on the walls. It was a far cry from Gilbert's opulent office, much warmer and less overwhelming, but then, Ludwig was a far cry from Gilbert as a whole. Perhaps the good brother, as it was, more the white to Gilbert's black.

Ludwig ignored Alfred the entire day, pretending he wasn't there at all, glancing only from time to time at Alfred to send him looks of annoyance.

Alfred just tried to be still and quiet, and made great use of Ludwig's coffee maker in the corner. Must have had an entire pot to himself, as he waited impatiently.

Really needed a hobby or something, and needed to redefine his exact schedule with Gilbert, because Alfred felt his presence here was entirely unnecessary. Inside of this building, with so many guards, Ludwig was surely safe. Alfred wasn't needed here, and made a note to bring this up to Gilbert in the evening. Wasn't going to spend every damn day standing in an office corner and watched Ludwig scribble and sketch away. Didn't have the patience for this.

Alfred was damn glad when the sun began to set, and night fell.

Almost winter, and it was clear in the shorter days.

The sky was dark and clear, stars visible even over the city haze, when Ludwig finally stood up and called it a day. Alfred inwardly sighed in relief, ready to get the hell out of this building. Had nearly lost his damn mind there. How did those two guys do this every day? Just standing there in front of Gilbert's office.

This wasn't exactly what he had signed up for in some sense. Had never agreed to accompany Ludwig to work in this senseless manner.

As Alfred bitched away to himself in his head, Ludwig once more made for the elevator, once more tucked himself into the corner and focused on his breathing, and Alfred watched the lights of the city through the glass.

So different from where he had grown up.

He didn't tease Ludwig that time for his acrophobia.

Exiting the building was no different than entering, with the exception of greetings. Seemed Ludwig stayed later than most, and they passed very few people on the way out, and none of them familiar to Alfred.

Back in business, for Alfred at least, and he was on guard again.

For the best.

Outside, the air was cold. Not unbearable yet, but it had lost that warm scent of fall. Dry and sharp now, painful to the nostrils after a while.

Ludwig walked down the street as briskly as ever, looking anxious and uneasy, despite knowing he had someone keeping watch.

They didn't make it to the subway, because out of nowhere, something happened.

A flash of movement to the side, a blur, and the next thing Alfred knew he had all but crashed into Ludwig's back, because Ludwig had crashed into someone else. A quick flash of incomprehension as he jumped back, a collection of his thoughts and senses, and then Alfred realized.

Ludwig hadn't crashed into someone as much as someone had forcibly stopped him.

A man had leapt out from the bustling crowd, out of absolutely nowhere, and had grabbed Ludwig by the arms to force him still. Ludwig had fallen utterly frozen, limp and stunned, and Alfred had a split second to take in this intruder.

A huge man, biggest guy Alfred had ever seen in person, tall and as broad as a damn house it seemed. Muscular. Powerful. Alfred was a big guy, but felt rather miniscule suddenly, in the shadow of that colossus. His stature was the first thing Alfred noticed, naturally, and although the chances of overpowering a man like that seemed infinitesimal, Alfred leapt forward all the same, because that was his job.

No time to think.

"Hey!" he shouted, as he rushed up, "Let him go!"

The man clenching Ludwig didn't seem to notice Alfred at all, as he shook Ludwig and hissed at him, words Alfred couldn't hear over the bustle of the city.

What stood out to Alfred the most in that moment was just the way Ludwig looked at that man.

Had never seen an expression like that, and couldn't really even figure it out.

Ludwig was scared to death, that was obvious, in his wide eyes and pounding pulse, but at the same time, Ludwig almost looked...hell, he almost looked _happy_. In some strange way, he seemed relieved. As if somehow this man was the last thing Ludwig ever wanted to see, and yet had missed terribly. Like Ludwig was looking at something that was so wonderful it was terrible, or something so terrible it was wonderful, and Alfred didn't know which or what or why.

Confused.

Made no sense, but nothing did yet to Alfred, so he came forward another step, hand reaching slowly and carefully down to the gun hidden beneath his shirt.

Closer and closer, and Alfred took a more detailed note of this overwhelming stranger.

Mass and height aside, the man was frightening simply because he looked so crazed in that moment. Eyes wider than Ludwig's, grey irises pale against how bloodshot his eyes were, his brow was scrunched, low in anger, his knuckles were white from how mercilessly he was gripping Ludwig's arms, his light blond hair was sticking out in every direction, clearly having been neglected from washing and combing for days, and his cheeks were coated with stubble. Dark circles under his eyes. A hawkish nose, prominent, rather sallow skin. His pupils were dilated, looked cranked up on something, and was certainly not in his right mind. His expensive clothes were wrinkled, a mess as much as his hair. Looked unraveled, undone, out of sorts, unkempt and ruffled. Looked scary as hell, if Alfred were honest. The scariest man Alfred had ever seen, the most intimidating. Someone that Alfred would cross the street to avoid walking past.

A powerful man was daunting, but a powerful man out of his mind was terrifying. Ludwig was in danger in that second, and it was easy to see.

Yet...

It was then that Alfred understood why Ludwig needed a bodyguard, a backup, because even though Ludwig was a big guy, he just stood there. No one would have looked at Ludwig and been eager to pick a fight with him, intimidating as he looked at a glance, but it was clear to Alfred then that Ludwig wouldn't lift his fist when needed.

Just stood there, passive in that huge man's hands, and looked utterly terrified. Made no move at all to protect himself, and Alfred understood Gilbert's concerns.

Ludwig was in danger, and did nothing.

Alfred gripped the handle of the gun, eyes very focused on that man as he remembered every detail about him, everything, from the shade of his hair to the sun freckles over his crooked nose to the wedding ring glinting on his finger.

Burned that face into his memory, and at last he pulled the gun out and aimed it steady.

Once more, Alfred called, "Let him go!"

That time, Ludwig looked over at Alfred, and it was only that glance from Ludwig that made that crazed man notice Alfred at all. Could hear Ludwig's sharp inhale when he saw the gun, but the target was utterly unfazed, didn't seem to really comprehend or fear the gun at all, and instead immediately turned back to Ludwig and gave him a brutal shake.

That time, Alfred could hear what he hissed to Ludwig.

"Who the hell is _that_? Huh? Who is that? Tell me!"

Not a normal response when a gun was aimed at your head, but that man seemed hardly sane.

Ludwig shook his head, helplessly, and couldn't seem to speak, but, oh damn, did that man seem ever enraged by the sight of Alfred. Who the hell knew why, or what his business with Ludwig even was. No one seemed to want to tell Alfred a damn thing.

The man leaned in, giving Ludwig another painful throttle, and whispered something in his ear. Alfred was a hell of a lot happier not knowing what made Ludwig squint his eyes like that.

Again, Alfred shouted, "Let him go! I'll shoot you!"

Ludwig murmured something, too low to catch, and the man very suddenly let Ludwig go, casting Alfred a very deadly stare before stalking off and disappearing as randomly as he had come.

Alfred followed him with his eyes until he had vanished, and then turned back to Ludwig, tucking his gun away but keeping grip on the handle. Because this was New York City, the crowd around carried on mindlessly, having little care that a gun had just been pulled there in the street. Everyone here was desensitized, it seemed.

Ludwig stood still, staring straight ahead, and rubbed absently at his arm, no doubt already bruised from that brutal death-grip the man had had on him. To spur him, to comfort him, to urge him to get somewhere safe, Alfred came forward and grabbed Ludwig by the arm, but much more gently than his predecessor.

Being saved by Alfred didn't make Ludwig happy or grateful.

Actually, it seemed to make him _angry_ , and Ludwig wrenched his arm out of Alfred's hand, whirled around, shoved Alfred's chest, and cried, in a voice that shook and cracked, "Go away! Leave me _alone_! I don't _want_ you here!"

That look on Ludwig's face; as if Alfred had done something wrong by running that man off. As if Ludwig were disappointed somehow.

Alfred didn't wanna be here either, that ungrateful little bastard.

Alfred opened his mouth, but Ludwig had already stalked off down the street again, and Alfred could only follow after him and curse under his breath. The worst subway ride of his life, for sure, as Ludwig stared at the door and all but ran to escape Alfred, to no avail. When they were closer to Ludwig's home, Ludwig pulled out his phone, made a call, started screaming, and Alfred knew once more that Ludwig was trying to get Gilbert to let Alfred go.

Not a chance, from the way Gilbert once more screamed back.

Again, Ludwig locked Alfred out of the house, and Alfred kicked the step railing and spat a curse before falling into position by the door.

Hated this job, swear to god, fuckin' _hated_ it. Wanted to punch Ludwig in the face and resign. Let him handle that man on his own, the bitch, and see what happened to him.

Hostility and frustration, coursing hotly through his veins.

But he couldn't go anywhere, so Alfred had no choice but to bite down that hate and stand there by that door, because that was what he was being paid to do, and how Ludwig felt about it in the end meant nothing. Yeah, nothing, but, oh...

He just wanted _out_ of here.

Trapped.


	3. Stairway of Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N : I have a bad habit of very long chapters that can be difficult to read, I know, so I'm trying my hand at shorter chapters here, though more of them. I hope you'll be patient with me as I find out how this sits with me. (prbly not well) (also don't get used to this ninja updating, bruh)

**Chapter 3**

**Stairway of Silence**

The temperature dropped sharply.

The air became painful to his lungs, and he wasn't dressed for this exactly. Tired as hell. Was prepared to pull an all-nighter after the encounter with that frightening man, but Alfred was damn exhausted, and not as alert as he should have been.

He leaned against the brick wall for support, sheltered by the awning above, and tried not to fall asleep standing up. Sure as hell wouldn't be the first time, but it was always unpleasant.

Time passed. The air grew ever colder.

There had been little movement from within in the past few hours. Could hear Ludwig screaming from time to time, but that aside nothing eventful occurred.

Ludwig had been on the phone with Gilbert for hours.

Alfred was just starting to actually feel the cold, and pretty painfully, when the door finally opened again and Ludwig poked his head out, stared at Alfred very potently, and asked, mostly to himself, "Still here, are you?"

Oh, yeah, but not happily.

Alfred scoffed, breath puffing out in the freezing air, and he just kept his eyes straight ahead as he retorted, "Now, look, I ain't tryin' to be an asshole, since I know English isn't your first language. But— You _do_ actually know what a bodyguard _is_ , right?"

No response to that, and since Alfred's phone hadn't rang he could only assume that Ludwig had been very unsuccessful in convincing Gilbert to let him go.

Ludwig was staring away at him, he could feel it, but Alfred kept his posture still and didn't glance over, because honestly in that moment it was taking all of his effort to not shiver. It was important to appear unfazed and frightening, to appear inhuman, especially to his clients. That was how they felt safe, after all.

Maybe Ludwig felt a little bad for having gone off on Alfred as he had.

By then, with the freezing air, Alfred had put it behind him. Was too tired in that moment to be angry with Ludwig, and just felt rather resigned. A little melancholy.

Pitied Ludwig too much to stay mad at him, in the end.

After a long silence, there was a deep noise of what could very well have been aggravation, but when Ludwig finally spoke up again, what he said surprised Alfred quite a bit.

"Well. Come in, then. It's cold out."

Alfred snapped his head over, breaking his attention, because it felt so somehow absurd.

Ludwig had stepped outside, in his thin house clothing and socks, and was holding the door open expectantly.

Alfred just stood there, a little dumbly, because it was nothing that he had ever really encountered before. Had never had a client invite him into their own home just because it was cold outside.

He must have looked as dumb as he felt, because Ludwig was quick to lift his chin and say, very pointedly, "You _do_ actually know what pneumonia _is_ , don't you?"

Alright, alright, fair enough.

Alfred narrowed his eyes a bit, pursed his lips, and made it known to Ludwig that he wasn't amused.

Ludwig must have seen it, for his posture loosened a bit, and he inclined his head to the door, saying, in a gentler voice, "Come. All of my heat is escaping. Come inside."

Stubbornly, Alfred turned straight back ahead, staring off into the night, and said, "My job is to guard you. Whatever the weather. Go back inside, where I know you're safe."

He said it only because maybe, stupidly, his feelings were a little hurt from Ludwig's prior shove. Stupid, yeah, but it had stung all the same.

Alfred was just being difficult because Ludwig was difficult, and maybe Ludwig knew that, because his posture changed again, and for the first time Alfred had seen, Ludwig seemed to slump.

Looked so defeated then, and once more pity came to the top of the feeling pile.

Another silence, and then it was Ludwig who scoffed. His voice was lower. Deep, rumbling, almost a bit mournful, actually, a tone that Alfred hadn't yet heard and it was a little...sad.

"If you truly think that Ivan will come barging up to the front door while you're standing there, you're very mistaken. He'll sneak in through the back window, if he really wants. What good will you do me all the way out here with no key?"

...damn.

Alfred looked over once more, saw how serious Ludwig's face was, and finally relented. With a sigh, he conceded and took a step, and Ludwig may have looked a bit relieved when he held the door open for Alfred as he stepped through. When the door was shut behind them, Alfred's glasses immediately fogged up, and he was quick to remove them and place them on the nearest end table. Didn't really need the damn things, anyway. Had picked them up on his way north, too.

Maybe he was just trying to be someone else.

As Ludwig stared him down, Alfred took a quick look around, and immediately began reconnaissance.

Ivan, eh? That name again. A first step. Needed to get the whole story from Ludwig, but his main priority then was locking and bolting the front door, and from there he went to each window in turn, testing the locks for strength and searching for any points of entry that weren't secure.

Ludwig just stood there in the living room as Alfred made his way through the house, still and quiet, and Alfred tried to be quick and discreet, especially when he went into the bedroom. A bit inappropriate, and yet certainly exciting, thrilling in a way. Ludwig had been so out of reach, so distant, so cold, icy, and being able to get that more personal feel of him was satisfying, because Alfred liked to be in control of everything.

Gilbert may have been signing the paycheck, but Ludwig was really the source of Alfred's income, and Alfred wanted to be in charge of that, and that meant being in charge of Ludwig. Getting up close and personal would make it harder for Ludwig to keep being so difficult and aloof, and Alfred looked forward to that because it would make the job easier when he didn't want to strangle blondie every five minutes.

Every two minutes, more like.

That said, he was instantly quite keen to the scent of Ludwig's bedroom, though, that was obvious. Pleasing. Calming. Cologne and clean linen. Could say right off that he loved the way Ludwig smelled. For all the good it would do him. Had stopped thinking about those 'side benefits' the second Ludwig had glared at him the first time.

Ludwig did, indeed, seem miles out of reach.

When he tested the last windows, in the small kitchen, Ludwig seemed to have slumped a bit more yet, and looked a little disheartened by the time Alfred came to a standstill in front of him. Ludwig shifted a little under his stare, but, hell, Ludwig should have thought about how awkward it might be before he had forced Alfred inside.

Ludwig may have regretted by then relenting and being weak, but it was too late to change his mind.

Perhaps to make things less horrifically awkward, Ludwig lifted his chin and uttered, deeply, "I suppose...I should start dinner."

Alfred lifted his brow and must have looked a bit bored, for Ludwig narrowed his eyes when Alfred replied, swiftly, "So start. No need to tell me what you're doing. Just pretend I'm not here. I'm your shadow—that's all. Ignore me. You've been good at that up until right now."

He didn't mean to be an ass, he really didn't, but Ludwig made it easy to be aggressive, with that haughty air of superiority he exuded. Ludwig was prissy, condescending, bitchy and moody, and Alfred responded to that by being even more obnoxious.

They would be butting heads frequently, that was for sure, but Alfred couldn't say he was looking forward to it.

Ludwig didn't snip back that time, though, maybe just too tired from his screaming match with Gilbert, and wearily ambled off into the kitchen. Alfred just moved over to the corner and leaned into the shadows, as Ludwig began bustling about.

Didn't like the look of these living room windows. Didn't seem secure enough, now that he had seen the size and strength of the threat, or at least one of them.

Unease.

It suddenly occurred to Alfred, the more he looked around, that this house didn't exactly seem...well. Didn't seem like it was really just Ludwig's. It was perfectly immaculate, as clean and sterile as a hospital, and yet didn't seem exactly as cold as Ludwig. Had a homey air about it, and that was because Alfred noticed little things, here and there. Difference scents. A pair of dress shoes by the door that looked far too large to be Ludwig's. Two spots on the sofa were worn down, not just one. Someone lived here or had lived here, someone that wasn't Ludwig, and even though they weren't visible that atmosphere remained.

He turned to glance at Ludwig through the kitchen frame, and meant to ask, 'Who else lives here with you?' He stopped short, though, because as he hung over the stove Ludwig's head was completely dropped. Thought maybe his shoulders shook from time to time.

If Ludwig was having a breakdown, then Alfred didn't want to know, and stayed silent.

Some other time.

Minutes passed, and Alfred pulled a notepad out of his pocket and started scribbling away things he needed to fix up and keep an eye on. Just something to do so he wouldn't go crazy.

The house was rather small, all things considered. Ludwig, as much as with his clothing, didn't seem to share his brother's love of luxury. Ludwig used the subway, and lived in a very modest home. Not the smallest, nah, but certainly normal. Two bedrooms, two stories. Just a normal house. By the window in the living room sat a closed piano.

Windows—needed to replace a few locks. Would like some bars, maybe, but that would have been a fire hazard.

Doors—pretty secure. Good bolts on the front. The back was iffy.

Bedroom—a wonderful place that was off-limits, because that aroma was far too nice.

Legs—

Wait.

A bit off track there, for a moment, Alfred would admit, but those legs really were spectacular, and he found himself glancing at them frequently as Ludwig began cooking.

Hated seeing him looking so down, though, even if he was a jerk.

He zoned out for a while, contemplating Ludwig's mystery housemate.

Those shoes.

A call startled him out of his thoughts.

"Come eat."

Alfred looked over, to see Ludwig staring at him, and it was becoming clear to him that Ludwig had meant that he should start dinner for two.

Odd.

As much as a client had never invited him inside, they sure as hell hadn't ever made him dinner. Oh, Ludwig. Stubborn, unusual thing. Alfred hated Ludwig, but at the same time had already grown a little angrily fond of him. Something he had just never encountered before. Had never met someone exactly like Ludwig, and just didn't know what to think or feel.

He was hungry, though, wasn't gonna lie, so when Ludwig repeated, more impatiently, "Come eat," Alfred just heaved a sigh and trudged over. Pretended to be irritated about it, but he wasn't exactly. Always looked forward to food, for sure, even if it was from someone that elicited such mixed emotions.

When he sat and looked around Alfred felt once more a little out of place, because the food on the table was utterly out of Alfred's league, so to speak. Didn't even know what the hell it was. Ludwig had grown up in wealth, standing, power, class, and Alfred was a little country bumpkin out of place. He was protecting Ludwig, but felt more like Ludwig saw him as a smudge of dirt. Oceans between them in terms of social standing. Alfred would never be able to compare.

Smelled good at least, whatever it was, and Ludwig was staring holes through him, perhaps knowing his hesitations.

A bottle of wine in the center of the small but expensive dining table.

To break the ice and look less a fool, Alfred asked, offhandedly, "You moonlight as a chef or something?"

Ludwig finally released his potent gaze, and sat down himself, grabbing a glass and pouring the wine.

A low, rumbling mutter.

"Just a hobby. Stress relief. I like to cook. It takes my mind off of things temporarily."

Right.

Well. Alfred was always one to appreciate someone with domestic skills, because god knew he didn't have any, and was extremely impressed, if not a little intimidated.

When Ludwig set the wine glasses and instigated the meal by grabbing his fork, Alfred followed suit, studying Ludwig and trying to mimic his posture and actions. Just for his own ego. Hated looking like a moron, even if he kinda was at times.

Ludwig knew it, so Alfred didn't know why he bothered.

Dinner was quiet, a little awkward, as Alfred stared at Ludwig and Ludwig avoided eye contact, but wow—the food was spectacular. That was a surprise, if not a pleasant one. Maybe he really would get those 'benefits' after all, and if it was in this food then so be it. Damn good enough, and Alfred had long since been a beggar. Didn't care much for the wine, though, and maybe that was pleasing to Ludwig because the bastard had already drank nearly the entire bottle by himself.

A deep flush of splotched red on Ludwig's pale cheeks.

No doubt Ludwig needed alcohol to handle having Alfred in his house, and Alfred let him have that one, although he would rather have Ludwig sober at all times in case of a sudden threat.

So quiet.

Forks scraping and a clock ticking somewhere from within the living room.

After a long silence, Ludwig finally lifted his head, exhaled, and said, almost begrudgingly, "I apologize for earlier. I was a bit upset. It wasn't my intent to take it out on you."

He said 'sorry', but from the look on Ludwig's face and the tone of his voice, Alfred knew that he wasn't really sorry at all and just felt it was his duty in good conscience to apologize.

Like with everything else, Alfred took what he could get.

So Alfred scoffed, resumed eating, and muttered, "Why are you apologizing? Think I'm not used to it? Happens all the time. Following someone around for a living doesn't exactly make me popular." Ludwig sneered a little, no doubt without even realizing it, and Alfred carried on, trying to calm the situation before he accidentally escalated it again. "Anyway, you invited me in and made me dinner. I'd say that long since made up for anything you may have done. Let's just call it even, alright?"

Too damn tired to fight with Ludwig anymore tonight, and didn't want to piss him off because he still had to interrogate the bastard now that he had him pinned down.

Ludwig stared away at Alfred, seemed surprised, but all the same Alfred thought that Ludwig might have relaxed a little then. Good. Hadn't come here to make the kid miserable, nor himself. Just wanted to do his job and try to find a reason to carry on.

A while later, Ludwig glanced up once more and said, perhaps without thinking, "You look different without the glasses."

Alfred snorted, and ran a hand through his messy hair egotistically. Ludwig rolled his eyes, shook his head, and seemed to regret ever opening his mouth.

But the mood was a little better.

The time seemed right, then, with Ludwig plowing through another glass of wine, leaving the bottle empty at last, and so Alfred finally asked.

"So," Alfred began, when Ludwig set the empty glass down, "Ludwig. What's the story, huh? Why am I protecting you, and who from? Kinda important for me to know."

That constantly condescending look faded quite quickly enough when Ludwig inhaled and his bleary eyes snapped up to pin Alfred down in a second. Alfred lifted his chin, quite proud of himself for breaking that icy composure although he had no right to be.

Faded instantly, at that strange expression on Ludwig's face.

Ah, hell. Not the time or place to be proud of startling Ludwig. Not after everything that had happened tonight.

A long, piercing stare, and then Ludwig quickly gathered himself, lowered his eyes back down to the empty glass, and grumbled, deeply, "Gilbert didn't tell you."

"No. Said you would fill me in."

A scoff.

Ludwig glowered away at nothing, face red and looking strangely angry and yet also extremely nervous. Looked quite vulnerable in that instant, and once more Alfred pitied him.

Alfred waited and waited, but Ludwig just didn't speak. Had to force it out of him, apparently, and Alfred hoped, above all else, that it wasn't going to be anything he didn't want to hear.

Hadn't his luck been bad enough?

Alfred finished off his own single glass of wine in one long chug, hunkered down, steeled his resolve and face, and commenced the interrogation.

Ludwig just looked like he had been thrown into an icy sea.

Alfred hated that, too.


	4. Reminiscent Echoes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N : Potentially uncomfortable chapter.

**Chapter 4**

**Reminiscent Echoes**

Felt like he had been sitting at that table for years, in that unending, unnerving quiet.

Ludwig wouldn't speak.

At Ludwig's unbreakable silence, Alfred prodded, "So. Tell me what I'm doing here. And be honest. I'm puttin' myself out there—I need to know everything. Everything. The truth helps me do my job a hell of a lot better. Alright? You said a name earlier. Ivan? Who's that? Is that the guy from today?"

Hard to converse with Ludwig on a normal day, and now Ludwig just looked like he wanted to sink under the table and die. Hated it for him, yeah, but Alfred really did need to know. Didn't want to make him upset, but this was a little important. Needless to say.

At last, a hesitant nod from Ludwig, who was still avoiding his gaze.

It was clear that Ludwig had verbally shut down, so Alfred was forced to lead the conversation by trying, "Is there anyone else I need to know about?"

Ludwig shook his head, brow low and lips pursed and face ever collapsing.

As if all of that haughtiness had been knocked right out of Ludwig. As if Alfred not knowing had been extremely unnerving to Ludwig, because now he had to actually talk about it. Ludwig seemed somehow humiliated, as if he were scared of Alfred actually knowing the story.

Couldn't place that look, but damn, was it killing him, it really was.

So _sad_.

"Ivan got a last name?"

At last, forced to speak, Ludwig murmured, lowly, "Braginsky."

Had Ludwig lowered his head any farther, it would have bumped into that empty glass he was nearly melting.

When he was offered nothing else, Alfred tried, "Got a picture or something?"

Had seen Ivan already, yeah, memorized him fairly well, but this was standard protocol when only one culprit was involved and they were known.

Again, a nod, and Alfred was a bit perplexed when Ludwig, instead of reaching for his phone, pulled out his wallet instead. A reach inside, and Ludwig had pulled out a small stack of little photos, two or three, staring down at them a bit blankly before reluctantly handing them across the table to Alfred.

Everything about Ludwig then was so muted. As if Ludwig had just checked completely out of the building and was running on autopilot.

Alfred took the offered pictures, flipped them over, and at the top sat a rather professional looking photo of the huge man he had squared off against earlier in the evening, only...

Didn't recognize him at all, at first. Looked entirely unalike, and Alfred thought that perhaps Ludwig had handed him the wrong photo in his daze, but a closer study made it clear that it was the same guy. That nose, that jaw, those grey eyes. Same man, after all.

How could someone look so completely different and yet similar?

Something about those eyes. In the photo, the man looked so different, if only because he looked so much calmer, kinder. Looked like a nice guy, actually, and it was a little strange. His hair was neatly clipped, combed. His clothes were perfect. Smiling crookedly, canines a little poked out. That very Slavic nose. Cleanly shaved. His eyes were alert, clear, gentler. Looked like any other businessman in the city, if only bigger and broader. But, man! Not to be a dick but this surely was the most Russian-looking motherfucker Alfred had ever seen in his life, and didn't even know yet what this man actually was. Didn't say that aloud, for Ludwig's benefit, but good lord! Not particularly handsome, not anywhere near as easy on the eyes as Ludwig, but looked kind enough. One of those men that relied more on personality and their own confidence. One of those acquired tastes, Alfred supposed. Strange.

Looked like a good guy here, for it all, and Alfred was confused, as usual these days.

Tilting his head, Alfred uttered aloud, "This is him? He looks so different here."

A low whisper.

"That was before he...lost his mind."

Yeah, the guy had seemed out of his mind for sure, had been high or crazed, drunk, whatever, and for that he had looked very different than this normal, unremarkable man in the picture.

Alfred glanced up at Ludwig, who was staring away at the tabletop, and Alfred couldn't help but scoff then and wonder, "You keep a picture of the guy who's threatening you? That's different."

Hadn't had that happen before.

Silence.

Ludwig looked so distant. Lost, almost.

Alfred turned his eyes back down to this Ivan fellow, observing him and taking him in some more, and asked, curiously, "So what's the deal with him? You guys business partner or something? Deal go south? I've seen that a lot before—"

Alfred trailed off then in utter shock, and actually exhaled something close to a gasp, because he had shuffled the photo behind the stack to look at the next one, and was absolutely floored.

A wedding photo.

Two men; one was clearly Ivan, although he looked so unfamiliar, and the other was Ludwig.

Holy shit—

They were _married_?

Hadn't seen that coming, not in a million years, not in the way Ludwig had looked so frightened of Ivan, not in the way Ivan had tried to shake the life out of Ludwig. Had never once imagined they were married. No wonder Gilbert had been so vague, why Ludwig looked so humiliated now, why Ludwig was so angry and volatile and cold. Why Ludwig was so upset with Gilbert, why Ludwig didn't want Alfred there. It had to have been an extremely touchy topic for all of them, one no one wanted to even think about uttering.

Gilbert hadn't wanted to say, 'Protect my little brother from his own husband.'

Alfred couldn't blame him.

Oh, that wedding ring that had gleamed on Ivan's finger—

Didn't know what to say then, he really didn't, so Alfred just stared silently away at the picture in his hand, taking it in as a whole. A beautiful photo, really. One of those snapped without anyone knowing. The best kind; unplanned. Caught up in the excitement of the moment, as Ivan held Ludwig by the waist and kissed his cheek, as Ludwig beamed away, caught in a second of laughter, and far in the background Alfred could see the top of Gilbert's head, and that brunet from the office.

The look on Ludwig's face here...

Beautiful.

Ivan looked a far cry from what Alfred had seen on the street that evening. Looked younger here, looked so much happier, looked gentler, looked caring and loving. Looked like a very normal man, basking in the glow of his wedding. Lit up and bright. Didn't look at all dangerous there, size aside. No hint whatsoever of what was to come. Ivan wasn't a handsome guy, really, but in that moment, in that photo, with that smile, he was as beautiful as everything else.

Ludwig was always stunning from what Alfred had seen, but his eyes were glued then to that photo because Ludwig was downright gorgeous in that moment, frozen in time. Had never seen a prettier smile that the one Ludwig was sending Ivan, but that could very well have been because Alfred had only seen this icy Ludwig, this haughty one, this unpleasant one, this scared one, and so to see him smile like that was astounding.

They looked so _happy_.

Kinda sad, really, to look at that picture and then up at Ludwig, who was far more lackluster now and was still staring down at the table. Ludwig certainly wasn't smiling anymore, and neither was Ivan.

How had all of this come to pass? Where had everything gone wrong?

Ivan wore his ring yet; Ludwig did not.

Needed to know, even if it hurt Ludwig to talk about it, so Alfred gripped the photos in his hands, flipping through them in turn, and finally gathered the courage to pry, carefully, "I'm guessing it wasn't an amicable divorce."

To put it lightly.

Ludwig looked up at last, met Alfred's eyes, and said, a bit stiffly, "We're not divorced. He refuses to sign the papers. That's why..."

Ludwig trailed off, seemingly quite mortified, and Alfred waited quietly for him to come around.

Took a while, but Ludwig finally finished, "That's why Gilbert hired you."

Alfred sat up straight, brow low and face stern, and said, "What? All this because of a divorce? He's coming after you...because you _left_ him?"

Maybe jealousy and hate were good reasons, but Alfred was far more accustomed to dealing with money and power struggles. He guarded drug dealers, frauds, thieves, mafiosos, the worst kind of men, and so to suddenly be guarding a man from his husband over a divorce?—that seemed absurd.

Ludwig gave a short, humorless laugh, and rumbled, "My husband is quite traditional, I'm afraid. Divorce simply is not an option. He takes 'until death do us part' very literally. When I first presented him with the divorce papers, he went quite ballistic. He said that he would never sign them, never, that the only way we would ever divorce is if one of us were to die."

Well, hell. Ominous.

Alfred asked, curiously, "And then what happened?"

The pause then was unbearable, and Alfred almost squirmed as Ludwig appeared close to just shutting down entirely.

Took well over a full minute of silence before Alfred received an answer.

It wasn't one he wanted.

Ludwig stared holes through the table, and finally supplied, "I don't remember. I woke up in the hospital three days later on a respirator. You can imagine how humiliating that was. Gilbert's reputation has always been my first priority."

Sarcasm on full display on that last sentence, but that didn't matter to Alfred, not then.

Just like that, a bolt of fury rose up, anger, wrath, and he felt his face flush red and his nostrils flare, felt himself swallow, and he couldn't help but curse, gruffly, "Dammit! Wish I'd'a known earlier! I'd've beaten the hell outta him, I swear it."

Ludwig jumped a bit when Alfred suddenly slammed his fist down onto the table in a fit of rage.

That guy, that fuckin' guy—

Wished he would have known. Would have torn that Ivan guy apart on the spot. Couldn't stand guys like that, couldn't stand to be around one and not do anything, and would never in his life have let Ivan walk away unscathed had he known. Woulda shot him right there, would never have let him just leave like that.

_Wished_ he had known.

Alfred glanced up then, saw Ludwig's somewhat alarmed expression, and finally bit down on his anger enough to say, quickly, "Sorry. I just— I got a real special place in my heart for wife-beaters." Ludwig shot him a painfully dirty look, and Alfred was even quicker to amend, "You know what I mean."

And Ludwig did, because he was very quiet after that.

For the best, really, because all Alfred could hear then was the blood pounding in his ears from the anger.

Those awful memories that rushed up—couldn't stand them.

Alfred scoffed after a minute of fury, looked up at Ludwig, and said, crassly and rudely, "So what's his problem, huh? He can't get it up unless he's beatin' someone smaller than he is? Huh? Tryin' to prove he's a man?"

Alfred didn't know why he said that, he was just so _angry_ , and he didn't know what he really expected, but he sure as hell knew that what he did not expect was for Ludwig to pull back his fist and punch Alfred in the face from across the table.

Christ—

Instinctively, he clenched his own fist, ready to retaliate, but stopped himself short at the last second, because, goddammit! He couldn't ever hit Ludwig, ever, not now, not knowin' that.

Shit.

Alfred barked, as he held his nose, "What's your fuckin' problem?"

" _You_!" Ludwig shot back, face red with anger now more than alcohol and hands on the table, shoulders high and tense. "How _dare_ you! Who do you think you are? You don't know him!"

Astounded and stupefied, Alfred sat back in his chair, and needless to say dinner was very much over.

Good thing his glasses were still off on that end table, or else Ludwig's big fist woulda cracked the damn things. Ludwig was a big guy, too, and punched accordingly.

Shocked and stunned, Alfred just stared at furious Ludwig from across the table, and it was staggering to him that Ludwig was defending that man. That Ludwig had actually punched Alfred for insulting the man that had put Ludwig in the hospital. Ludwig wouldn't lift a hand to defend himself from bodily harm from his damn husband, but had punched Alfred for opening his mouth and insulting that same husband. So Ludwig did have the heart to raise his fist, after all, but not against the only person he truly needed to.

Bizarre.

But Ludwig, as everyone had said, was a pretty good guy after all, because he suddenly crumpled up a paper towel and threw it at Alfred's face, and Alfred accepted it as blood leaked down from his nose.

Wanted out of here.

Wanted to go home, that bastard, didn't anyone understand how much Alfred didn't wanna be here? Didn't wanna be anywhere, but sure as hell didn't want to be _here_ , not knowing now why. Couldn't stand it. Didn't want to be in this situation.

Wanted to resign.

They stared at each other across the table, Alfred holding the paper to his nose as Ludwig's anger seemed to fade. Alfred was livid, really was, but couldn't take that anger out on Ludwig like he normally would have, not now, and so instead Alfred tried to regain control of the situation.

He clipped his voice and appeared stern and unbothered when he asked, "How long ago was this?"

Ludwig was staring very fervently at the plate beneath him, refusing eye contact again suddenly, though likely not from guilt.

"Five months ago."

At last, Alfred asked what he found to be the most pertinent question of the day.

"So why am I being hired to protect you? Why isn't he in jail instead?"

A damn good question, one he expected a damn good answer to. More likely than not, that terrifying man just had good connections and had avoided prosecution.

...right?

Silence.

If Ludwig had stared at that plate any harder it would have combusted.

Ignored him so hard, in fact, that Alfred finally had to demand, firmly, "Answer the question."

Ludwig glanced up quickly through his lashes, glare very potent, but all the same finally conceded, "Because I refused to press charges."

That anger blazed back up, and Ludwig could no doubt see it, as Alfred cursed again and tried not to punch the table.

Dumb son of a bitch.

The last thing Alfred had wanted to hear and yet everything he had deep down expected. Far too common a theme, come to think, with the battered. Never wanted to press charges, for whatever reason. Until it was too late. Ludwig may have been smart, but was dumb as a damn rock.

Before Alfred could fly off the handle, Ludwig added, very drolly, "Gilbert was furious with me as well. Wouldn't speak to me for weeks. Think what you want. I don't care."

Anger dulled into a throb.

Exhaustion.

Wanted to go to _sleep_ , because he didn't wanna talk about this anymore.

Still, Alfred grumbled, tiredly, "You just let him go."

Ludwig's look shifted, in a manner Alfred couldn't place, but he looked up and met Alfred's gaze when he said, in more of a whisper, "He's my husband. I could never... How could I? I could never have ruined his life like that. His reputation. Ivan is brilliant—he would have languished in incarceration. That's no place for a man like him. What was I supposed to do?"

Alfred verily disagreed. Prison seemed perfect.

Ludwig stared away at him as Alfred foundered. Alfred didn't know what to say, and so sat still.

What could you ever say to someone like Ludwig?

Someone like...

At last, Alfred asked, because he was curious if nothing else, "Why did you want a divorce? Was he— I mean, you know, was he...hitting you, before that?"

Maybe that wasn't his business, wasn't pertinent information exactly, but he wanted to know. Needed to know, really did. Was already going crazy.

Ludwig was quiet for a long time, before finally replying, sternly, "I realize that the first thing a victim says is that it wasn't like that, but it wasn't like that. Ivan isn't— He's a good man."

Sure.

So, really, what Ludwig had said was 'yes', because he hadn't said 'no'.

Shit.

Well, if nothing else, nothing, he supposed that this was the kind of job he would rather have. This exact situation was why he had become a bodyguard in the first place. Sure as hell had never wanted to protect thugs and criminals, hell no. Had wanted _this_ , just this; had wanted to protect people like Ludwig, who had never done anything wrong to anyone. Wanted to protect innocent people. Good people.

Vulnerable people.

Wanted to protect someone weaker than he was, be it physically or mentally or emotionally, someone who could admire him for it, someone who would be grateful, someone who could look at Alfred and see something good, something worthwhile.

Alfred wanted to keep someone safe who deserved it, because somehow he had always thought that maybe that would make up for it all.

A dream.

Certainly fed his ego, at any rate, fed his need to be a hero, fed his desire to be needed and wanted, made him feel useful. Every wannabe knight, after all, needed a damsel in distress, and Ludwig was suddenly his. It was that very second, in fact, hearing Ludwig foolishly say that Ivan was a 'good man', that Alfred deemed Ludwig extremely vulnerable, extremely weak, extremely irrational, and practically labeled him as utterly defenseless, whether it was true or not.

How hard Ludwig could punch made no difference when Ludwig suddenly seemed so meek in Alfred's eyes.

It was just instinct, he supposed.

It became clear very quickly that Ludwig knew exactly what Alfred was feeling, and he was not appreciative of it in the slightest.

An awful, heavy silence, before Ludwig abruptly stood up and jerkily began collecting dishes from the table, his anger very apparent, and Alfred stayed still and quiet so as not to set him off again. Ludwig was a bit volatile when it came to the subject of his 'husband', and Alfred sometimes had enough sense to know when to shut the hell up.

Didn't need to say anything that time, because as Ludwig filled the sink with water and began washing the dishes, he spat over his shoulder to Alfred, "You think differently of me now, don't you? I can see it. You no longer take me seriously."

Alfred opened his mouth to deny it, and stopped short because it was true.

Had seen Ludwig as a strong, handsome, brilliant man these past three days, bitchy and condescending, yeah, but no one Alfred really worried about beyond the basics.

Not now, though—had flipped on its head, his sentiments for Ludwig, and maybe not in the way Ludwig wanted.

Alfred felt concern and protectiveness suddenly, because in some way he did actually think differently of Ludwig. Thought less of him, perhaps, and it wasn't intentional but there all the same. Ludwig had said his husband was a good guy—what the hell else was Alfred supposed to think of him but weak, however he looked physically?

At Alfred's silence, Ludwig turned back to the sink and muttered, under his breath, "This is why I never told anyone. Everyone's reputation is at stake."

Alfred turned away, and stared at the wall.

Reputations? Yeah—Ludwig wasn't a woman. It was different for men, it really was. So much harder to admit something like that, and risk losing a sense of their masculinity. To risk being taken less seriously, as had just happened.

Ludwig could take care of himself, was big and strong and very virile, but none of that mattered anymore the second someone found out that he had been beaten up by his significant other. Everything changed. The world embraced a battered woman and called her brave, a survivor, strong. The world laughed at a battered man, berated them, mocked them, and Ludwig stayed silent and refused to press charges.

Yesterday, Ludwig had been just another man to Alfred. Tomorrow, Ludwig would be a victim, someone Alfred needed to defend.

Ludwig hated it, because it wasn't really all that fair, however true it may have been at the basest level.

Ah, fuck it all, was sick of thinking about it.

He tried to shut his mind down.

There was only silence after that for a while, as Alfred let Ludwig breathe, and he merely hung in the corner and watched as Ludwig tidied up the kitchen. Hated seeing Ludwig's slumped shoulders and pursed lips. Hadn't meant to upset him, no, but it had been necessary.

Kinda wished he didn't know, though.

Those damn shoes by the door. Knew whose they were now. Shoulda thrown the damn things out. Why did Ludwig keep them?

Ivan. A violent man sent over the edge because his punching bag wanted a divorce. That was what it came down to, in the end, even if Ludwig vehemently denied it and tried to change the narrative.

Ludwig finished up and walked by him in close proximity, and without thinking too much Alfred reached out and grabbed him by the arm. Ludwig fell still, but stared straight ahead and refused to look his way.

Alfred was quick to ask, "Does he have a key?"

Should have been obvious that no, in fact, my murderous husband no longer has a key, but with someone like Ludwig who could ever say?

A long silence yet again, and then Ludwig grumbled, "I had the locks changed."

Well. At least there was that. _Something_.

No doubt, though, that it was Gilbert that had had the locks changed, and Ludwig's averted eyes all but said it.

Ludwig wouldn't fault Ivan for _anything_ , and Alfred found that infuriating.

Pushed it down, though, and let Ludwig go because Ludwig was shifting around and looking like he wanted to punch Alfred again. Ludwig skittered away immediately, and Alfred started crashing as anger utterly spent him. The feeling of being a knight was hard to hold onto when Ludwig couldn't stand to look at him and clearly didn't want to be pitied.

Ludwig didn't exactly make it easy.

Hated leaving it like that, hated the way the night had gone, so Alfred tried to soften his voice, failed quite miserably, and whispered, "Hey. I can't say I'm too happy that you didn't press charges, but at least you got out. You did the right thing, alright? You left before it was too late."

Oh, that horrible glare Ludwig sent him, and Alfred realized how condescending he must have sounded.

What else was he supposed to say? What did Ludwig really expect?

Dammit. Really needed people skills.

Without a word, Ludwig stalked back into the kitchen, and, as Alfred watched, Ludwig suddenly pulled a prescription bottle down from a cabinet, tapped a pill into his hand, and put it back. Because it may have had an impact on his job, Alfred came forward, and asked, immediately, "What is that?"

Ludwig tried to murder him once more with his eyes, failed, and griped, "None of your business."

Wrong answer!

"It is my business, because _you're_ my business. My job is to protect you, from whoever and whatever. So. What is that?"

Ludwig meant to walk away, but Alfred grabbed him by the wrist not so gently, yanked him still, and let Ludwig know with his grip alone that he wasn't playing around.

He was about sick of Ludwig's attitude and evasiveness.

Unable to free himself from Alfred's grasp, Ludwig finally cursed and muttered, "Sleeping pills. There. Happy? I take them to sleep."

"You just drank an entire bottle of wine," Alfred hissed, giving Ludwig a shake, but Ludwig just laughed, very dryly.

"Not the first time. I'm not dead yet."

Alfred scoffed, and let Ludwig go, making sure to chide, maybe callously, "You have a guy that can crawl in through your window any day and murder you, and you knock yourself out with sleeping pills and wine. Smart. Real smart. Yeah, you're brilliant, alright. I see more and more every minute why I was hired."

Ludwig sneered at him for the thousandth time, stomped to his bedroom, and spat over his shoulder, " _Forgive me_ for wanting to _forget_ that for a few hours."

The door slammed, and Alfred felt a twinge of regret. Gone as quickly as it came, replaced with more frustration.

One of the worst nights in Alfred's memory.

But the strangest part of the entire encounter came when Ludwig, perhaps feeling regret, too, suddenly called from behind that door, "Goodnight!"

His voice was thin, strained, angry and muffled, but the pleasantry was there all the same.

How ridiculous.

Alfred plopped down on the couch, snorted to no one, and clasped his hands between his knees. Ludwig was some piece of work, for sure. Just couldn't understand him at all, couldn't figure him out.

Wanted to protect him suddenly all the same, and not entirely for the paycheck.

He lied down on Ludwig's couch, staring at the window, and drifted in and out of sleep as Ludwig drugged himself into oblivion behind that closed door.

That night, for the first time in years, Alfred had nightmares. Her screams were always echoing in his ears, and once more, Alfred seemed in a position that felt hopeless.

Couldn't go home.

Wished he had never answered that phone call.


	5. Tapestry

**Chapter 5**

**Tapestry**

The morning was very awkward.

Alfred had slept fitfully, very little, tossing and turning on Ludwig's couch in the midst of nightmares. Was glad when the sun rose and Ludwig's bedroom door creaked open.

Ludwig slunk silently through the house as Alfred sat up and tried to get his brain working. The click of a door. Shortly after, the sound of a running shower. Would have loved one himself, but Alfred knew that if he ducked into the shower after Ludwig, the bastard was gonna run out of the house and leave him behind.

Needed to go home and get some things, change his clothes, get cleaned up. His hair was sticking up every which way, and needed a washing.

But Ludwig came first.

When he was safe in that skyscraper, Alfred could slink out and go home and get it together.

That was the plan, anyway, and so of course naturally it didn't work that way.

That morning, Ludwig didn't take the same path. Rather than going to the subway, Ludwig instead walked briskly down the street towards a parking garage. Alfred divided time between watching the street for Ivan and watching Ludwig's legs.

Alfred was a bit surprised when Ludwig offered a greeting to a man in that parking garage and moments later a very nice car was brought out. Black. Very expensive. Quite luxurious. Some kind of Audi Alfred had never seen, new and extravagant. Of course; a German car for a German man.

Ludwig made very quickly for the driver's side, and Alfred leapt to the passenger door with a jolt of adrenaline, snatching the handle and opening it, because he knew that Ludwig was absolutely going to pull out and leave Alfred behind if he wasn't fast enough.

From the roll of Ludwig's eyes when Alfred sat down and shut the door, he had been right.

So. Maybe Ludwig did have his own toys here and there, like his brother, and this remarkably expensive car was likely just one of them. Why did Ludwig ever use the subway when he had this beauty?

As Ludwig pulled out, Alfred eyeballed the interior, whistled a bit, and said, airily, "Nice! This yours or Gilbert's? How come you didn't take it yesterday?"

Ludwig was silent for a while, ignored the second question, and just whispered, "It's mine. Ivan gave it to me on our fifth anniversary."

Goddammit.

Alfred sighed and sat straight in his seat, having put his foot in his mouth yet again.

It was quiet and awkward after that, until Ludwig abruptly murmured, "Put your seatbelt on."

Alfred rolled his eyes in turn, but obeyed.

He just watched the city pass, was astounded by how safe a driver Ludwig was in this car meant for speed and aggressiveness, and after a while he realized that they weren't going to the office. They were heading east, not to the Battery, and because he didn't want to make an ass of himself Alfred just shut up and waited to see where Ludwig went.

A while later, Alfred realized they were at Sands Point.

When Ludwig pulled up to a very imposing wrought iron gate and punched in a code, Alfred watched the metal creak open and felt so out of place yet again. He didn't belong in this area, for sure. Only a bunch of millionaires here. Didn't Ludwig know that Alfred lived in the damn slum? Had come from the fuckin' trailer park back home.

Along the curved drive, a massive house came steadily into view. Not a house—a mansion. Absolutely massive. Very modern. Sleek. Glass upon metal upon glass. An architectural marvel.

Beautiful.

Alfred couldn't help but breathe, to himself, "Damn! Look at that."

Ludwig was quiet, parked the car at the end of the drive, and Alfred leapt eagerly out, taking in this dark, stunning manor. Could have been right out of a movie, and when Ludwig dug into his pocket and pulled out his keys, ambling up to the door, Alfred felt rather breathless.

Was this Ludwig's real house? Would make more sense.

Or maybe—

An awful surge of adrenaline, panic, anxiety, and Alfred bolted forward, cut Ludwig off, snatched the keys very rudely out of his hand, and barked, before Ludwig could bitch, "Whose house is this?"

It had occurred to Alfred, not so dumbly, that this could have very well been where Ivan lived.

And Ludwig must have known that, because his aggressive stance slouched, his brow came up a little, and Ludwig finally just said, "Gilbert's."

Oh.

A look around, a scan of the scenery, and then Alfred stared at Ludwig and judged him. When Ludwig's sincerity was good enough for Alfred, he tossed Ludwig the keys and stepped back.

Ludwig just looked damn tired as he twisted the lock, punched in another code, and then pushed open the door. Alfred darted in right behind him, not looking to be locked out, and was immediately awed into silence by the house.

Damn, Gilbert was a bastard, but he had remarkable taste.

The most stunning house he had ever seen.

Ludwig didn't seem awed or impressed, entirely uninterested in how remarkable his brother's mansion was, and Alfred just trotted behind him and gawked around like a kid.

Money was _great_. Sure wished he had some.

...well. Great may have been a strong word, because damn if everyone in those sparse photographs Alfred saw didn't look _miserable_. They passed through what must have been a massive sort of living room, there was probably some fancier name for it, and above a leather sofa there was a huge portrait. A photograph, printed out on an actual canvas the size of a painting in a museum. Gilbert and that brunet, and a much younger Ludwig in front of them, perhaps thirteen. All together, and not a one of them was smiling. Everyone looked so serious. So dismal. This family of ice. Just cold statues, all of them, and no one smiled.

Ludwig didn't look happy in any of the pictures Alfred saw.

Come to think, the only time that Alfred had seen Ludwig smiling was in that picture with Ivan.

Pathetic.

Glass windows all around, huge panels that took up entire walls, and Alfred could see, through that kaleidoscope, the sea out back. A private beach, quiet and calm in the gentle morning tide. While easily keeping Ludwig in sight within this mostly glass house, Alfred made his way to the back doors, as huge and imposing as the front, and slid one end open.

The smell of the sea. Sand and salt. Familiar. The wind back home was just a little warmer, more humid.

Close enough.

But not the same, and so Alfred shut the door and trotted back in, hunting Ludwig down into an ornate dining room. A huge grandfather clock, ticking away in the corner.

Time always moved for Alfred, but nothing ever seemed accomplished.

For Ludwig's part, he seemed to be accomplishing much in that instant, and Alfred was startled and taken aback to see Ludwig...cleaning.

Cleaning?

Why the hell was Ludwig cleaning? Had a cloth in hand and was shining and waxing the wooden table, the antique-looking chairs. Alfred hung back and watched with utter bewilderment as Ludwig moved steadily throughout the house, in what was clearly a well-oiled routine, and cleaned Gilbert's already immaculate house.

What the hell...?

Ludwig was quiet, very focused on his work, ignoring Alfred as expertly as ever as Alfred just followed behind.

A long hour, two, and Alfred glanced frequently to the glass and out to the sea.

Wasn't sure what was worse; the homesickness, or the undeniable sense of unease that came from being around all of these bizarre men.

Ludwig moved into the huge kitchen, cleaned the counters and mopped the floor, and Alfred was ready to jump out of his skin.

Couldn't stand it.

"So!" Alfred finally gathered the nerve to ask, to break this awful air of suffocation, "How come you don't live here? A place like this. There's plenty of room."

Ludwig grimaced, washed his hands and then wringing them in a cloth, and said, with a great amount of venom, "I hate it here. I grew up here, and couldn't get out quickly enough. I hate this house. It feels like a prison. In here, I could just open my eyes and see how much Gilbert expects of me."

A twinge of embarrassment, but it was kinda nice to have Ludwig actually speak instead of just grunting, 'None of your business.'

This family seemed otherworldly in a sense, so different than anything Alfred had ever seen. Couldn't connect at all.

This strange line.

Alfred shut his mouth, and watched as Ludwig changed course and suddenly went up the stairs. As usual, Alfred followed dutifully behind, and Ludwig pushed through yet another door. This time, though, the air was instantly different, and Alfred knew at once that this must have been Gilbert's bedroom. Huge, dark colors, and that faint scent of cologne. The smell of Gilbert's bedroom didn't evoke that same sense of comfort and entrancement that Ludwig's did; actually, it seemed off-putting somehow to Alfred. As cold and uninviting as everything else.

Ludwig, surely, must have felt different, because he was used to it. Something in his posture changed when he entered that room, hardly perceivable but there all the same. Just a slight lowering of his chin and shoulders. Relaxing and off guard, if only a fraction.

Ludwig's big brother.

Ludwig began rummaging through Gilbert's closet and dresser, and it took a very long time for Alfred to realize what Ludwig was even doing. Didn't understand at all until Ludwig took one dress shirt out, inspected it, and then placed it upon the bed, and then another, and then gathered them up and walked out.

Alfred supposed Ludwig was meaning to do laundry, but instead Ludwig went back downstairs, entered yet another room (this place felt like a damn maze!) and sat down at a small table. For whatever reason, Alfred felt extremely uncomfortable when Ludwig pulled out a little box, opened it up, and without a word began sewing up a loose hem on one of those shirts.

This was just...

_Strange_. All of this was so strange, everything, and Alfred was befuddled.

Shifting his weight from side to side in unease, Alfred finally piped up again, and asked, "Place this big—don't ya have maids?"

"Of course," Ludwig murmured, without batting an eye or glancing up. "Today is their day off. I fill in."

Alfred hesitated, and then asked the obvious question.

"Why?"

Made no sense. Gilbert was literally made of money, and there was no reason for Ludwig to do this.

Ludwig's face and eyes and voice were as frosty as ever, distant and aloof behind that veil, when he offered, "I've been doing this one day a week since I was six years old. Gilbert's way of teaching me discipline. To know how to do things for myself."

Discipline or control?

Gilbert ran Ludwig through a mental maze, a maze as imposing as this house, and Ludwig didn't seem to realize or care. Ludwig didn't seem to understand that none of this was exactly normal behavior. There was nothing wrong, of course, with teaching someone how to fend for themselves, teaching them domestic skills, but something about this all just seemed so underhanded. Couldn't put his finger on it.

But knew one thing—Gilbert had set Ludwig up for failure. Ludwig had fallen into abusive hands because they had seemed familiar. Close to home.

To that accusation, Alfred would hold, until he was proven wrong.

So Alfred just sat there and watched Ludwig patch up Gilbert's expensive clothing, and from there he went out to the back porch and swept the sand off of the wood. Alfred didn't miss when Ludwig fell still and stared out quietly over the sea.

Alfred did the same, and felt homesick more powerfully than ever.

Hours later, when the house was cleaned and Gilbert's clothes were mended and the invisible maze-running was complete, Ludwig locked the house up and went back to the car. This time, when Alfred got in, neither the car nor the house seemed quite as spectacular as they had in the morning.

Seemed sinister in a way.

Gilbert's opulent house. Ivan's opulent car.

Just fancy ways to keep Ludwig quiet and compliant.

When Alfred was offered no information, no explanations, no opinions, all he could do was let his mind wander and form his own conclusions based on his own biases, and right now his opinion was that Ludwig was a silent victim to two absurdly powerful men.

Whether it was true or not didn't matter to Alfred, because Alfred, like everyone else on the planet, only saw what he wanted to see.

Alfred put his seatbelt on that time without being asked, and the city flew by yet again. This time, they did go to the Battery, and back to that building. It was two in the afternoon. Far too late for Ludwig to go to work, surely, and so Alfred could only wait and see, as usual.

Another ride in the glass elevator, another instance of Ludwig closing his eyes and breathing deeply, another moment of dizziness when Ludwig took the first step out, and through it all Alfred just followed behind and kept watch.

They went to Gilbert's office, not Ludwig's.

Those two guards straightened up when they saw Ludwig coming, and came forward. The friendlier one gripped Ludwig's arm in one hand and shook his hand with the other, eagerly, asking, "How have you been, Ludovico? _Come ti piace il nuovo tipo?_ "

Ludwig hesitated, clearly trying to gather words, and then clumsily uttered, "Um— _Va...bene_."

The shorter, darker guard snorted, and muttered, " _Non amore a prima vista?_ "

Alfred, oblivious to the words, thought that Ludwig's pale face tinted a little pink.

The friendly guard shoved Ludwig's chest, 'ooh'ing and clearly teasing him about something or another, and it was nice to see someone being _nice_ to Ludwig. Ludwig waved them off finally, grunting, "Alright! You got your hits in."

The taller guard, with his lighter and friendlier eyes, glanced back and forth between Ludwig and Alfred, curiously, and then he lowered his voice and whispered something to Ludwig that Alfred couldn't hear. Ludwig scoffed, sputtered, and shoved him away, before straightening his collar back into perfection, taking a deep breath, and preparing himself to enter Gilbert's office.

The darker-eyed guard muttered, gruffly but helpfully, "Breathe. It's always alright, every time."

Another scoff, this one more jittery, and Ludwig tried to distract himself, perhaps, by whispering, "How do you say 'I don't want to be here' in Italian?"

A taut smile, and the less friendly guard just replied, "I'll tell you later."

Ludwig nodded, and seemed to steel himself and at last gather the courage to push through the door to Gilbert's office.

As Alfred passed the guards, they seemed to study him quite intensely.

He ignored them.

'I don't want to be here.' Alfred felt the same, absolutely, and so in that he and Ludwig could actually understand each other.

Once more, Alfred found himself in Gilbert's huge, overwhelming office, but Ludwig didn't walk straight in like Alfred had, and rather turned to the left and went up to another door. Another room of the office, no doubt, behind which Gilbert lied in wait.

Like a villain, alright.

Ludwig hesitated there in front of that door for what felt like eternity, pale and pulse hammering, and Alfred came up beside of him, trying silently to remind Ludwig that Alfred was there to protect him. Just didn't know exactly from who or what this time, and Ludwig glanced over at Alfred very briefly.

A purse of Ludwig's lips as he gathered his nerves.

Alfred gave Ludwig the courage to push through the door, but not because Ludwig relied on Alfred for strength. Nah—Ludwig just didn't want Alfred there, at all, and so pushed the door open and plunged inside to get the hell away from him.

A sting, pushed quickly away.

His ego was all he had, really, and Ludwig didn't bend to it very easily.

It quickly became apparent why Ludwig had not wanted to open this door, why he had paused, hesitated, had looked pale and anxious.

This other half of the office was as huge as the rest, but pure damn glass, just like Gilbert's house. Could see everything, the city entire, everything, and Ludwig immediately lost balance for a second and was breathing through his mouth as he walked up to Gilbert, sitting there at another desk before those huge panels. At his sides, Ludwig's hands were shaking.

Gilbert didn't seem too concerned about his little brother's vertigo, and merely said, with a glance at his expensive watch, "You are three minutes late."

Alfred bristled.

Late for what, the prick? Ludwig had just gone to clean Gilbert's damn mansion and the guy had the gall to bitch about a three minute differential?

Ludwig murmured, blankly, "Feliciano and Lovino held me up."

The guards, no doubt.

Gilbert's drawled reply :

"I didn't ask for an excuse."

Alfred hated Gilbert, really did.

Ludwig came to a halt, brow already glinting with cold sweat and pale as a sheet, and he focused on Gilbert so that he wouldn't have to glance over and see the city through the windows.

Alfred, without being entirely in control of it, had walked up very closely to Ludwig just in case he lost his balance and stumbled.

Looked pitiful, really did.

Ludwig began speaking softly to Gilbert, posture perfect and eyes straight ahead. Looked more like he was talking to the damn President, Ludwig, rather than his own brother. Ludwig was speaking in German, though, so once more Alfred could only use his imagination, and since there didn't seem to be any other pressing reason for them to be there, Alfred could only assume that Ludwig was reporting to Gilbert on his housekeeping.

These people...

As Ludwig murmured away to Gilbert in German, Alfred glanced around, jittery as he was, and noticed that on the floor, a distance away, there was a large black blanket or cloth of some kind. Just lying there randomly on the floor. Entirely out of place.

Gilbert stood up suddenly as Ludwig yet spoke, and Ludwig followed Gilbert with his eyes as Gilbert ambled slowly away from his desk and towards that cloth.

Ludwig seemed ever paler somehow, and even though Alfred didn't speak a word of German he had enough sense to realize that Ludwig was suddenly stammering a bit.

What was that black cloth covering? Ludwig wouldn't look at it, and was squirming terribly as Gilbert drew ever close to it, shifting side to side as his vertigo roared up under Gilbert's windows. Couldn't the asshole at least lower the blinds for Ludwig? Would that one second of effort have been too much?

Probably just another terrible power play of Gilbert's, who seemed like a fanatical control freak to Alfred.

Gilbert fell still right at the edge there of that cloth, but made no motion, and Ludwig finally stopped speaking.

Alfred took a small step, in that heavy silence, and with that one step he had put himself in between Ludwig and Gilbert, because Gilbert had paid Alfred to protect Ludwig from everyone, and if that meant Gilbert, too, then so be it.

But Gilbert just turned back around, and made no aggressive motions.

Gilbert stared Alfred down, those eerie eyes cold and stern, and after a moment he asked, just as coldly, "Anything to report?"

About Ivan, no doubt, and Gilbert was the boss, so Alfred opened his mouth, ready to relay the encounter with Ivan, but Ludwig beat Alfred to the punch, interjecting, "Nothing at all."

Gilbert didn't once take his eyes from Alfred, dismissing his little brother as if he were little more than smoke, and said, "I wasn't asking you. Anything to report?"

Alfred was caught under Gilbert's frightening eyes, but managed a quick glance at Ludwig, whose blank face belied how nervous he must have been. His fists were clenched, a slight crease in his brow, and Alfred took pity on Ludwig then, and risked Gilbert's wrath to say, dutifully, "Nothing at all."

Gilbert's expression didn't shift, didn't move, he didn't even blink, and if Alfred had ever thought that Ludwig was frost then there were no words for whatever the hell Gilbert was.

Way farther down on the Kelvin scale.

Gilbert's voice was soft and yet very dangerous when he stared right through Alfred and said, simply, "I pay you. You answer to me. I'll ask again soon."

Yikes.

Gilbert was utterly terrifying, no doubt about it, as much as Ivan, and Alfred felt awful for Ludwig, really did, caught in between these two men.

Gilbert said that Ludwig meant everything to him, but sure as hell didn't seem to show it, at least not affectionately. Seemed more like some kind of chess move, a notion of control, some need that Gilbert had to dominate everyone and everything in his life, and his little brother was just another one.

A cloud went across the sun then, a shadow fell, and Gilbert's crimson eyes faded down into a pale blue, pink tints hanging in there from the office lights. Gilbert being an albino didn't make him terrifying, no, but it sure as hell helped to solidify it when Gilbert was just such a scary man. No doubt Gilbert loved his lack of pigment, loved how unique it made him, and used that somehow scary appearance to his advantage.

Gilbert turned his eyes then to Ludwig, at long last, and the stare that passed between Gilbert and Ludwig was one of the more electric ones Alfred had ever seen. Gilbert was clearly saying a million things without a single word, was obviously asserting his dominance, and Ludwig gave a valiant effort to hold it.

No movement from Gilbert, not a blink, not a twitch, just stone and ice, and eventually Ludwig swallowed, a shift of his jaw, and soon Ludwig averted his eyes to the floor and submitted.

Alfred hated the sight of it, because he thought less of Ludwig now than he had before.

Didn't mean to.

What would have been a normal battle of wills between two powerful men the day before was now something incredibly unnerving to Alfred, because he couldn't help but see Ludwig as weak and it felt as if Gilbert was just another man taking advantage of that.

Ludwig sure could talk back to Gilbert on the phone, could scream at him for hours, but it seemed that when they were face to face Ludwig entirely lost his will and nerve.

A flame that went out when the temperature hit absolute zero.

When Ludwig cracked and looked down, Gilbert turned his gaze back to Alfred and said, simply, "Dismissed."

Ludwig was the one to turn on his heel and stalk unsteadily out, his vertigo throwing his balance off as usual for a second. That time, though, Alfred inhaled and leapt over, reaching out to place a palm on Ludwig's arm to steady him.

He hadn't done that before; rather, he had laughed at Ludwig, like normal men.

They weren't normal now.

Ludwig wrenched back from the touch, and sped up to leave Alfred behind.

They brushed past the guards, who called to Ludwig, but Ludwig just stalked away from Alfred and ignored everyone.

The elevator ride was silent. Awkward.

Alfred could only watch protectively as Ludwig buried his face in the elevator corner to avoid seeing the city, and wished that he could just turn off that switch that had been flipped. Wished that he could just look at Ludwig and see him the way he had before, but he couldn't, just couldn't, however hard he tried.

Ludwig hadn't wanted anyone to know.

Again, the ride back to Ludwig's extremely modest house was quiet.

Alfred broke that awful silence only to say, riskily, "Tomorrow, when you're at work, I need to go home and get some things. I'm going to be here with you for a while, so... I know you don't like it, but—"

Ludwig interrupted, to mutter, far less maliciously than Alfred had expected, "Do what you want. I don't care anymore. Bring whatever you want. You can take the upstairs guest room."

Ludwig looked so rundown.

Just gave up, then, after having been put in place by Gilbert, and stopped fighting against the tide. Let Gilbert's waters carry him away, and Alfred hated being a part of that current, but there wasn't anything for it.

Dinner that night passed without one single word being spoken between them, and Ludwig took his sleeping pill and vanished as Alfred watched him.

Wondered if Ludwig couldn't sleep, or if the pills just let him pass the night without dreaming.

More and more, Alfred was content to let Ludwig drug himself at night, if that was what he needed, because it was clear now that those precious few hours were the only time that Ludwig wasn't under such extreme stress.

The dynamic between Ludwig and Gilbert...

It alarmed Alfred almost as much as the one between Ludwig and Ivan. Did anyone in this circle of terrible people make any sense? Alfred dreaded when Gilbert would come calling just about as equally as he dreaded Ivan creeping up.

The family tree from hell.

He should have felt right at home.


	6. Glass Scream

**Chapter 6**

**Glass Scream**

As promised, Alfred went home the next morning, after delivering Ludwig safely to work.

It was certainly eye-opening if nothing else, Alfred supposed, to go back into the slum after seeing Gilbert's manor. It was funny, how different people could be, and Alfred climbed rickety stairwell after rickety stairwell, down stained hallways and shifty characters, glimpsing roaches skittering here and there, unlocking his apartment and slinking in. Felt ashamed, almost, being here after spending days in Ludwig's home.

Even Ludwig's normal, modest home seemed like a palace when compared to Alfred's tiny, crumbling apartment.

He showered, gathered up clothes and stuffed them in his bag, took up every bullet he owned, a pocketknife, anything that might be useful. An extra pair of boots. He didn't have nice clothes, though, nothing fancy, nothing that would have ever impressed Ludwig.

Alfred looked around at the dim lighting and cobwebs in the corners, the grim atmosphere, and wondered if Ludwig felt this way when he looked at Alfred.

Must have seen Alfred as little more than gutter water.

Oh well. Perhaps they were even now, because Ludwig would surely never have the audacity to insult Alfred about anything now that Alfred knew all about Ludwig's situation.

They were even.

He cleared perishable items out of his fridge, gave one final look around, and then headed out. Now, just had to worry about leaving with a bag and alerting the neighbors to his absence. Wouldn't be surprised at all if he came back in weeks or months and found it ransacked and stripped bare.

For all it mattered. As if he had much, anyway.

Alfred trudged wearily back into Ludwig's office towards the evening, when the sun was low, and Ludwig lifted his head when Alfred came inside. Looked disappointed. As if, perhaps, Ludwig had just hoped Alfred would go home and not come back.

Alfred set the bag on the floor, to let Ludwig know he was staying.

Ludwig sighed through his nose, lowered his eyes, and didn't say a word.

Later on at the house, as Ludwig made dinner, Alfred crept quietly up the stairs and into the spare bedroom. Small but efficient. Light colors. A white dresser and blue curtains. Brown carpet. Navy sheets and blankets. Pleasing and friendly on the eyes. But, just like the rest of the house, it didn't exactly seem entirely unused.

Smelled a little like Ludwig in here.

Alfred, as always, could only form his own conclusions and assume that Ludwig had used this room as a hideout or escape when his husband had been violent.

Left a bad taste in his mouth, that thought, as he put his clothes away in the dresser.

Awful images up in his head, as his imagination ran wild.

Screaming in the middle of the night. Glass shattering. A bleeding Ludwig running in a panic up the stairs, tripping and stumbling, someone chasing after. Bloody handprints on the carpet. Ludwig making it just in time and shutting the door, twisting the lock, and sitting down against it, legs braced to help hold it shut as someone on the other side rammed into it. Ludwig closing his eyes in terror as he pushed back against that banging door, crying out desperate apologies as the door fell and rose with every blow. Awful minutes of panic, and then silence, and then maybe, just maybe, Ludwig would open the door because the voice on the other side had softened and said, 'I'm sorry'.

Couldn't stand it.

Wished Ludwig had just lied to him. Ignorance is bliss, after all, and Alfred sure as hell would have taken it.

When he finished placing his things and walked back out, Alfred studied the door, the wall, the carpet, the staircase. He knew well enough by now what to look for, and was extremely disappointed by what he saw.

Made him sick.

Little things that had such sinister explanations.

The little scrapes on the wallpaper on the upstairs hallway, in neat little rows; fingernail marks, no doubt caused by those instances when Ludwig had tried to flee and wasn't quick enough and had snatched out for anything to gain traction.

Little lighter patches on the brown carpet; bleach stains, when nothing else had worked to get the blood out.

Frayed, splintered spots on that guest bedroom door; from where, indeed, someone had rammed into it several times.

Bent wooden rods on the staircase railing, varnish worn off in spots; where Ludwig had run upstairs and Ivan had grabbed at his leg through the railing, trying to halt him and drag him down, damaging the railing in the process.

Nothing, and yet everything.

Such small, minuscule details were often the only clues in situations like this, where someone remained utterly silent and secretive, because they had so much to lose. Gilbert put so much pressure on Ludwig, expected so much, was ever in control, and Ludwig couldn't bring himself to admit to Gilbert that he had been weak. That he had risked so much of Gilbert's reputation.

Ludwig, ever quiet.

The wallpaper and carpet said more than Ludwig ever would.

The table was set for dinner when dreary Alfred finally walked into the kitchen, and he couldn't help but look around there, too, even as Ludwig sat right there in front of him.

White tile floor, cream wallpaper with a floral design. Glossy, expensive counters. Alfred saw the scraped paint on the archway that divided the kitchen from the living room; just another route of battle, another handle for a scrambling Ludwig.

Wondered how many nights Ludwig had spent unconscious on this linoleum floor. Ludwig cleaning Gilbert's mansion, scrubbing and mopping—how many times had Ludwig been on hands and knees here, scrubbing his own blood out of this grout?

His stomach hurt.

The knives that rested in the wooden block on the counter; Ludwig was so _lucky_ to be alive. One wrong move, one bad night, and Alfred woulda never had this job because Gilbert would have come looking for his little brother only to find him lying in a pool of blood with a knife in his chest.

Alfred turned his eyes once more to stoic, distant Ludwig.

It was almost winter, cold now, yeah, and Ludwig naturally had been covered from head to toe since Alfred had first come into contact with him. Ludwig wore long-sleeves, high collars, but for god's sake, hadn't anyone noticed the bruises? Had no one glimpsed a single one, when a sleeve had rolled up too high or a collar had lowered?

Had someone noticed, perhaps, and just ignored it?

Ludwig was a man.

The wallflower, after all. Ludwig didn't stand out to the general public, and no one ever noticed him long enough to realize something was wrong. So hard to see past Ludwig's mask.

Ludwig sat there now before Alfred in a sweater with a high collar, and Alfred wondered how long it had been since Ludwig had changed his style of dress. How long it had taken for his wardrobe to undergo an overhaul.

Knew that they had at least been together for five years, Ludwig and Ivan, from Ludwig's prior words, but surely it had been longer. How long had Ludwig hidden this?

Wondered if, after every bad instance, Ivan had shown up with some gift, something to make Ludwig forget, something to placate him, like that car.

Had that been an anniversary gift as Ludwig had claimed, or just another 'I'm sorry'?

Ludwig glanced at Alfred from time to time, as Alfred stared relentlessly at him, and after a while, Ludwig said, in a barely a whisper, "Thank you for not telling Gilbert yesterday."

Alfred didn't say anything, because he was starting to think that maybe he should have.

The more he saw, the less he wished he had.

Alfred had no doubt at all that he would see more of Ivan, and he worried a little about it because he wasn't sure that he would be able to keep himself from squeezing the trigger if Ivan ended up once more in his sights.

Would it be worth it, spending the rest of his life in jail?

He wasn't sure, and that said so much about how much he was willing to risk.

Ludwig didn't say anything else, and took his pill.

Alfred checked the doors and windows three times before heading upstairs.

Alfred had nightmares that night of someone scrambling in terror up the stairs, locking themselves in this room, and hiding under the covers. But not Ludwig.

Thursday morning came.

At the first pink light of dawn, Alfred rolled out of bed, trudged to the shower, and blasted the cold water in an effort to wake himself up. Wasn't used to guarding someone with Ludwig's schedule, and Ludwig just woke up too damn early.

Sure enough, when Alfred stepped out, shivering, he could hear Ludwig pattering about down below. He dressed quickly and bounded down the stairs, although Ludwig seemed to have lost the great desire to leave Alfred behind.

Ludwig was sitting at the kitchen table when Alfred descended, in a sweater that was far too big and coffee in hand, staring out at the pink sky.

Looked sad. Heavy bags under his eyes.

Alfred sat down in front of him, and it took a long while before Ludwig turned his head and sent Alfred a mournful look-over. It was clear enough to Alfred, in that expression, that Alfred wasn't who Ludwig wanted to see coming in to join him.

Ludwig missed someone.

It was so hard to reconcile handsome Ludwig sitting there at dawn like this, in a vulnerable moment of comfort, with the image Alfred had in his head of a bloodied Ludwig crying behind a closed door. Couldn't put the two together at all. Maybe no one could, and that was why all of this had happened.

When Alfred followed Ludwig onto the subway shortly after, Alfred looked around, really looked, and couldn't see what was so different about Ludwig from any other man there on that train.

Why Ludwig seemed to stand out so much to Alfred when no one else noticed him.

Couldn't see Ludwig as just any other man, having seen those little details in the house.

Ludwig glanced over at certain men from time to time, Slavic men, and Alfred wondered if Ludwig was trying to pick out similarities to Ivan, trying to see something familiar, trying to find something to cling to for just one second in time. Something that Ludwig found comforting.

Hated it.

Alfred delivered Ludwig to his office, safe and sound, and then ducked out and headed to his gym, because he needed to get out some of this latent stress. Staying strong was just a part of the job, after all, and he killed a few hours there, because damn if Ivan wasn't a huge fuckin' guy.

Needed to be on his game.

When Alfred came back in the evening to wait for Ludwig to wrap up, Ludwig glanced up as always, and seemed ever melancholy at the sight of Alfred.

Sorry about it.

When they stepped onto the crowded train, Ludwig glanced frequently at two men conversing lowly in some Slavic language, and Alfred murmured, to distract him, "I need to have a key to your house. You know that."

Ludwig tore his eyes away from those men, met Alfred's gaze, and there was a spark there for just a second, just a little glimpse of fire, as if Ludwig had found the desire to be in control again and be defiant, to tell Alfred where he could shove it.

But it died, extinguished, burnt out just like the rest of Ludwig, and after a second Ludwig turned his pale eyes back to those men, and finally whispered, "Alright."

Alfred felt like a shitty guy, for whatever reason.

That night, after dinner, Ludwig sat down at the piano by the window and stared down at it. Alfred waited expectantly, hoping Ludwig would play something, but he never did. Just stared and stared, longingly, and then stood up and took his pill as usual.

Instead of going into his new bedroom, Alfred threw himself down on the couch after checking the locks. Made him feel better, being on the same level as Ludwig, having him closer.

Just in case.

As Alfred lied on his side in the dark, he glimpsed, via moonlight, little patches of wall in the living room that had been painted the same color as the wallpaper, and he had no doubt whatsoever that those were areas where Ivan, in a fit, had punched right through the drywall. Ludwig had patched them up, hid them, as he hid everything else.

Could barely sleep, but surprisingly there were no nightmares that night.

Come dawn, Ludwig was sitting there again with coffee, and this time he was holding something in his hand. When Alfred joined him, he saw that it was the wedding photo Ludwig carried in his wallet.

A glance up at Alfred, and he could see how bleary and shiny Ludwig's eyes were.

Felt remarkably horrible when Ludwig whispered, huskily, "You know, I had always held hope that it would go back to the way it was. You here... I can't pretend when you're here. Seeing you reminds me that Gilbert won't let it happen. Ivan won't come back. It won't ever be the way it was."

Alfred stayed silent, and stared down into his coffee.

Wished he had had the courage to ask, 'Why would you _want_ it to be?'

Didn't understand Ludwig.

Ludwig tucked the photo away, stood up, and carried on, as Alfred ever watched.

Alfred's eyes always fell to the markers he had pinpointed, and he tried very hard not to envision the scenarios in which they had been made.

One of the cabinet doors was a little crooked, a little dented.

Ludwig dressed differently that day, far more glossily, and gave effort to shave and comb his hair despite how lackluster he usually appeared.

It was Friday, and something different happened.

There was a board meeting, or something, and Ludwig had made his way down the hall, Alfred in tow as usual, and this time it was on a different floor and through a different door. Those two guards were there, though, so that must have meant that Gilbert was inside.

Why Ludwig had cleaned up, no doubt.

Ludwig walked in, and Alfred tried to follow, and was shocked and offended when the two Italians thrust their arms out and refused to let him pass. Before Alfred could cause a scene, Ludwig turned around, cut off from Alfred by those arms, met his eyes, and said, stiffly, "You can't come in. Sorry."

With that, Ludwig turned and the door shut, and the guards shoved him back a pace.

Alfred sneered at them, they sneered right back, and the shorter, darker one hissed, "You know better! You can't go into a board meeting. Wait out here."

Alfred was pissed off about it, yeah, if only because he was impatient by nature. He didn't even need to stay, he hadn't stayed the past two days, didn't need to remain in this building all day when he knew Ludwig was safe inside, but he suddenly wanted to. Couldn't explain it, really. Maybe Ludwig being with Gilbert just made Alfred anxious, and he decided right then and there that he wasn't going anywhere, wasn't leaving, because he didn't trust Gilbert any more than Ivan.

An awful, tense silence, and then the taller guard uttered, somewhat playfully but also derisively, "Can't be without him for even a minute, huh?"

"The hell does _that_ mean?" Alfred spat without thinking, because he was annoyed and angry, and the guard rolled his eyes.

It was probably best to make friends with these men, but to be quite frank Alfred hated every single person thus far that he had encountered in this little corporation.

...well, except for maybe Ludwig. Couldn't really hate Ludwig without having a guilty conscience.

Just to be an ass, Alfred pushed forward a bit, pretending that he was trying to go inside, and he didn't really know why he did that as much as he didn't know why he did any of the dumb shit he did. He was just a stubborn, hot-headed jerk, really, and acted the part.

Predictably, the guards shoved him back aggressively with curses, and before Alfred could raise some hell for no good reason except for that he was agitated by thinking constantly of Ludwig and those awful marks on the wallpaper, there was an interruption.

Another voice, right behind.

"Is there a problem?"

They all looked over to see a man standing beside them down the hall, and Alfred recognized the brunet that had essentially been the one to hire him. His hair was tied back, dressed as immaculately as Gilbert, face stern and eyes very cold as he assessed the situation from a short distance. Same age as Gilbert, and just as steely.

The last link in this weird family chain, the last man that Alfred needed to get a feel of. This man had been in that portrait in Gilbert's home, but Alfred didn't know yet who he was.

Looked like an asshole, though, just like the rest of the lot. Condescending and as chilly as Ludwig, but less terrifying than Gilbert.

As far as Alfred was concerned, this guy was just another man that had failed Ludwig.

The taller guard muttered, "Nah. No problem. He's just pitching a fit."

Alfred stepped back, lifting his chin and sending the creep his best sneer (which wasn't as good as Ludwig's, to be fair), and the brunet came forward a pace.

"About...?"

"He wants to go in," the shorter guard grunted.

The mystery man snorted.

"You would think he would have learned by now to avoid the wrath of Germans."

The guards both scoffed at the same time, and the friendlier one said, with no hint of humor, "Germans? Man, nobody's scared of Germans! Try growin' up with Italians."

Just as humorlessly, the darker-eyed guard added, "Our grandma would beat Gilbert senseless with her shoe. Wouldn't know his own name after."

The other held up his hand, as if clenching an imaginary shoe, and said, with a very thick, broken accent, " _Vaffanculo_! You shut up, _fantasma_! How dare you speak like that, _stronzino_!"

Pfft—Alfred would have no problem beating Gilbert with a shoe, either.

A pause, and then the long-haired brunet burst into laughter, as Alfred pouted off to the side, and the situation seemed rather diffused.

The guards fell back in place, and the man came up to Alfred. A look up and down, a leer, and the brunet crooned, "Feeling hurt about being kicked out, are we?"

Alfred scoffed, and griped, "What do I care? Why aren't _you_ in there?"

The brunet lifted a thick brow, and merely supplied, "Because I don't wish to be."

Whatever.

Ludwig was in there alone with Gilbert and other awful, powerful men, was what it all came down to in the end, and Alfred didn't have enough faith in Ludwig, didn't think he could take care of himself, didn't think he had the nerve and resolve and ruthlessness needed.

A helpless seal being circled by sharks.

"Don't worry," the brunet suddenly said, as if knowing Alfred's mind. "He's quite safe in there, don't you think?"

Immediately, honestly, Alfred snipped, "No."

The brunet's eyes, a very pretty, mottled mix of blue and green, raked him once more.

"Oh? And what if I told you that Ludwig is the one leading this meeting today? Would that surprise you?"

From the way Alfred's head snapped over and his eyes widened, the answer was obvious.

Another long search of Alfred's face, and the brunet finally said, in a much lower voice, meant only for Alfred to hear, "I hired you to protect him from one person, not the entire world. He can handle himself outside of this situation, I assure you. He needs someone who can make the hard decision he can't when it comes to Ivan; he doesn't need a babysitter, and he doesn't need a hero. He only needs someone who can see Ivan for what he really is."

A douse of water on Alfred's ego, but, as with everything else, Alfred let it flow in one ear and out the other, because his opinion of Ludwig had already been formed.

Perhaps in an effort to lighten the tense mood, the brunet finally turned fully to Alfred, and stuck out his hand.

"I'm Toris."

Toris. Just another let down, Alfred was sure.

He readied himself for another man he needed to keep Ludwig safe from.

Was it too much to ask that Ludwig had _someone_ out there he could rely upon?


	7. Another Point of View

**Chapter 7**

**Another Point of View**

It was only out of politeness that Alfred took that offered hand and shook it, firmly, as he found himself ever scrutinized.

Wondered what all of these men saw when they looked at Alfred. Toris and Gilbert must have known too much about Alfred already. Maybe they knew where he had come from.

Toris, at the very least, squeezed Alfred's hand just as firmly as he would have anyone else's, and that gave Alfred a little bit of extra nerve.

When the handshake was over, Alfred finally asked, "So, who are you, anyway?"

Another lift of Toris' brow, and yet he easily answered, so calmly, "I'm Gilbert's partner."

"Business partner?"

Toris rolled his eyes, briefly, and then lifted his left hand up, intentionally holding it out in a manner that drew Alfred's eye. Saw nothing interesting there, except for a gold ring on his finger—

_Oh_.

Right.

An awful twinge of red on his face, god only knew why, and Alfred understood, grumbling, irritably, "Coulda just said husband."

Hmm. Hadn't seen a ring on Gilbert's finger, though, now that he thought about it.

"No," Toris drawled, "That would be inaccurate. We're not married. Not technically. We've been together for twenty-seven years, but we're not married."

"Think the law disagrees," Alfred offered, helpfully.

"Maybe," Toris snorted. "But Gilbert's law is the only one that matters in the household—" yeah, real fuckin' shocker, jerk like that "—and Gilbert, well... He's a strange man. He holds the belief that two men can be together, but that they shouldn't marry. He considers it improper."

A crinkle of Alfred's brow, and he met Toris' pretty eyes, rolled his shoulders, and said, perhaps rudely, "With all due respect, man, that doesn't make any fuckin' sense."

Toris snorted.

"You're telling me. Try living with the man for nearly three decades."

"No thanks."

And boy! Did he mean that.

Givin' a guy a ring but saying, 'oh yeah, we're not really getting married, it's improper.' To be honest, sometimes Alfred wasn't sure who the worst person for Ludwig to be around was; his husband or his brother. Both seemed awful, albeit in different ways.

Gilbert's need to control everything extended here, too. He gave Toris a ring, but wouldn't wear one in turn. Telling the world that Toris was unavailable, while Gilbert still appeared free to do as he pleased.

Or maybe this was still all about those 'reputations'.

A long silence, not so awkward, and Alfred gathered up the courage to pry, a bit later, "But... Isn't Ludwig married?"

"Yes."

The guards shifted, uncomfortably.

Toris looked unbothered, easygoing, and Alfred knew that either Toris was doped up on some kind of damn tranquilizer to be so eerily calm when the man lived with Gilbert, or he was a sociopath.

...or a saint.

Whatever he was, high or holy, Toris was unruffled, unbothered, and finally carried on, when Alfred fidgeted, "Gilbert disapproved of that union from the very start. The only reason Ludwig wasn't disowned and cast out into the street was because Gilbert just loves him so much. But, oh! Was he ever furious. Livid. Pitched a fit for months. He had always hated Ivan from the first day, but Ludwig marrying him was just too much. The ultimate disgrace, for Gilbert."

Alfred, not knowing when to shut up, uttered, "But he was in that wedding photo."

Toris smiled then, a real smile, and it was actually pretty lovely, despite how ridiculously condescending Toris was.

"It was so sudden. Gilbert was in utter shock. Stupefied. And a little helped along by copious amounts of sedatives administered by yours truly. You see, Ludwig was so terrified of Gilbert knowing, that he didn't inform us of the wedding until the night before the ceremony. It caught us off guard. I had to make Gilbert go. It would have broken Ludwig's heart had he not. Drugging him was the only way to get him there peacefully. He would have caused destruction otherwise."

To say the least.

Poor Ludwig. Must have been hard, growing up with someone like Gilbert, feeling trapped on all sides. And then being let down by the one man he had actually trusted all the way.

Letting someone down like that—

The worst feeling.

Alfred asked, nosily, "And how did _you_ feel about that union?"

The guards looked like they wanted to scram and fast, shifting endlessly at what must have been an extremely touchy topic of conversation for them, with their apparent like of Ludwig.

Toris was quiet for a moment, looked Alfred up and down, and then said, in what could have been a tease but that sounded deadly serious, "I trust this is off the record. You don't have any recording devices on, now, do you?"

Erhm—

"No," Alfred squeaked more than said, and Toris lidded his eyes and that condescending look was back in full force, miles better than Ludwig's.

"Between us, naturally I never approved. Ivan is Russian. I'm from Lithuania, and well! This may not be proper to say, and certainly it's not one of my prouder qualities, but I'll be quite honest with you, Alfred : I fucking hate Russians. I was as hostile about the whole thing as Gilbert, I admit. But seeing Ludwig like that, I just couldn't say 'no'. So I went, and stayed quiet." Toris snorted, and gave Alfred yet another rake of scrutiny. "That's strictly confidential. Sixty-two percent of all our business transactions are with the Russian Federation. Naturally, it would be bad business for them to hear me say such a thing."

Alfred shook his head to himself, and regretted that he had ever met any of these creeps.

They fell into another silence, and Alfred wished that Toris would just turn tail and get the hell out of here, because he annoyed Alfred as much as Gilbert did.

Their fault, this whole thing. Their hostility towards Ludwig's chosen partner had made it impossible for Ludwig to ever tell them the truth, to ever confide in them, to ever run to them, because then Ludwig would be faced with that awful 'I told you so.'

Everyone here was guilty.

When Toris looked over at Alfred a while later, eyes flitting over Alfred's face, he spoke again. A low, soft murmur. Nearly mournful.

"I've raised that child since he was two years old. I know Gilbert is his big brother, but really, he's more like our son. Please. Keep him safe. He still wants to be with Ivan. He refuses to admit anything, even with the evidence stacked in front of him. That's why we had to go this route. Ludwig just won't ask for help, and won't tell anyone when something is wrong. He only chooses to see the good in Ivan. He won't hold Ivan accountable for anything. It's best he isn't alone now. He means so much to us, you don't know."

No, Alfred didn't know, because they didn't show it, and maybe Ludwig didn't know, either.

Alfred stared at the wall, absolutely stoic, and yet he felt a little disheartened then.

This whole damn situation was too sad, and far too close to home. Was happier before he had met Ludwig, in some way.

Dumbly, perhaps, and certainly tactlessly, Alfred asked, finally, "How did this happen? People like you guys, someone like Ludwig—how did this even happen? Something like this."

Ludwig was far too smart to have ever been in that situation, and Alfred knew that intelligence had nothing to do with emotion, he knew it, yeah, but it was hard to fathom all the same.

It was Toris then who looked ahead, face blank and voice steady.

"There's no simple answer to that. Ludwig never talks about his problems to anyone. He suffers alone. He doesn't wish to burden anyone. But, god—" A sudden tremor in stoic Toris' voice. "That was the worst night of our lives, driving to the hospital. Seeing Ludwig and Gilbert like that—wish I had never seen it. I've never seen anyone cry the way Gilbert did that night. Whatever was going on in Ludwig's head, only he knows."

Gilbert _crying_? Didn't seem possible.

Alfred stayed silent, and spoke no more, because to be quite frank he felt sick.

Didn't wanna think about _that_ , not that, and not here.

Not so easy, because Toris looked over, caught his eye, and Alfred was quite trapped still by how intense Toris' blue-green eyes were. Pinned him down in a second, sharp as they were. Razors.

A low whisper, once more only for him to hear.

"I know about you. I know what happened. I searched high and low for someone, did every background check known to man, and when I found _you_ , I knew that you were the one I wanted."

Alfred swallowed, desiring more than anything to break that gaze and look away, but he couldn't, couldn't move, as Toris' eyes picked him apart.

"That was why I chose you. Because I knew that you would take this more seriously. Money is a great motivator for men, but emotions are better. I knew you would give it everything you had. Whatever you need, we're here. Just call. We'll do anything for him. Gilbert loves Ludwig, he does. He just doesn't know how to _say_ it. Keep him safe."

Alfred had been right; Toris and Gilbert knew far too much about him.

Toris was using Alfred, was what it all came down to, and maybe that shouldn't have surprised him much. People did it all the time, and at least in this case it was for a good cause, in a sense.

Alfred could only stare at Toris, speechless and vulnerable, feelings he absolutely hated, and Toris let him breathe a little by turning away and saying, in more of a tease, "Go get some contacts, won't you? If those glasses fall off in a critical moment, you're in trouble."

Alfred shifted a little, and grumbled, with a hint of embarrassment, "No, I, uh— I don't actually need them. I just like the way they look."

A long silence, as Alfred felt a fool, and then Toris started laughing again.

Laughed for a long damn time, clapped Alfred on the shoulder, and then wandered off.

Alfred stared at that door, trying hard to focus on anything else except that memory.

Time dragged.

When Ludwig came back out, about three hours later, he came straight up to Alfred, eyes lidded and yet again looking disappointed.

Before Ludwig could say anything, assuming he would at all, Alfred beat him to the punch and said, in a mixture of taunting and irritation, "Yeah! I'm still here."

For just a second, Alfred thought that Ludwig looked a little embarrassed.

Ludwig was extremely irritated by Alfred's presence, absolutely, made that no secret, but Alfred could see then, in Ludwig's posture and expression, that he was attempting to gage Alfred's mood, almost cautiously. Ludwig didn't like Alfred, but hesitated then about treading farther.

When Alfred realized why, that awful ache in his chest made him lower his eyes from Ludwig to the door behind him.

Damn. Ludwig hesitated and was leery of Alfred, didn't want to anger him, because Ludwig was used to the men around him flying off the handle. His husband. His brother. Had grown up with angry, volatile men, and that was what he was used to. Ludwig stopped short because Alfred was just another big guy that could have easily beaten him senseless if he felt the desire to do so.

And yet Ludwig only lashed out when those same men were insulted.

Sad.

Alfred stared holes through that door, feeling angry and aggressive, but not at Ludwig. Wished he had the balls to go up to Gilbert and ask, 'Hey, you think your precious little brother wound up in this situation because he chose a man that reminded him of _you_?'

Violent, volatile Gilbert would have gone on a rampage, but it seemed a valid question to Alfred.

Ludwig had stayed close to home, as most people in those situations did. Alfred had personal experience in that, after all.

Toris' words meant nothing. Alfred was visual by nature, and what he saw here was nothing he liked. Was grasping at straws in the dark, because aside from the basics no one yet had really bothered to show him anything worthwhile.

Would fix that before long.

To end the silence, Alfred met Ludwig's pale eyes, and managed to say, in a gentler voice, "I'm not going anywhere. This is my job. I do mine, like you do yours. Wherever you go, there I'll be. Even if you hate that. So. Let's just get along, alright? I don't wanna fight with you every day. Especially if we're living together for a while. Until this is all settled. I know why you don't want me here, but you gotta know too why I have to be."

Ludwig stared him down, as piercingly as Toris had, and finally sighed through his nose and gave a stiff nod.

_Didn't_ wanna fight with this guy every day, hell no, and maybe Ludwig felt that way, too, from that tired look on his face.

That work day was short, having come to an end with that meeting, and as they left the skyscraper behind, Ludwig went and had a key made for Alfred. Gave Alfred more satisfaction and security than he could express, finally having a key to Ludwig's home and therefore feeling more able to come to Ludwig's aid in a blink should it come to that.

Now, he would work on making Ludwig's house just a little more secure, and then, when Ludwig was more comfortable with Alfred's presence, Alfred would sit down with him and create a plan of action in the (hopefully) unlikely event that Ivan managed to get inside the house.

Would try his damn best to never let that happen.

The sun was still up that time when they reentered Ludwig's house, and since there was little else to do, Alfred figured the time was as good as ever to put Ludwig's feet to the fire.

Instead of pressing Ludwig more about Ivan, though, Alfred instead turned his attention to Gilbert, because Gilbert was just another danger. Less obvious and certainly less violent, but a danger all the same. Toris, though he looked gentler, was aloof and strange.

Alfred didn't trust them.

When Ludwig sat on the couch, looking pale and tired, Alfred sat down on the opposite end, leaving the cushion between them empty. Giving Ludwig plenty of room was quite important; didn't want him to feel anxious and vulnerable, didn't want to overwhelm him.

After a while, Alfred found his courage, and said, "So. Ludwig. Tell me a little about Gilbert. He's...some kind of man. Is there anything I should know about? Anything you wanna tell me? I'll stay with you all day at work, if you want. Do you?"

Insinuating as indirectly as he could that if Gilbert really was just another Ivan, Ludwig needed only to nod his head. Didn't need to say it aloud, didn't need to speak. Just a nod.

Those claw marks on the wallpaper.

Ludwig must have understood, because he was staring at the floor thoughtfully, brow low and yet not looking agitated.

Alfred waited, patiently.

The problem with prying information about Gilbert out of Ludwig was that, naturally, this wasn't pertinent to the job he had been hired to do, so Ludwig was very free to refuse. Alfred didn't really have any right to be nosy in that aspect, but he was always nosy, always, even when it was rude and (to quote Gilbert) _improper_.

Surprisingly, Ludwig lifted his head and looked over at Alfred, observed him, and then started speaking.

Maybe Ludwig really was trying to get along, after all.

Or maybe stressed and overwhelmed Ludwig just needed someone to _talk_ to. Someone that wasn't Toris, that wasn't Gilbert, that wasn't judgmental or overbearing or related, someone with no expectations, someone that had nothing to gain or lose by Ludwig's words and thoughts.

Someone, in the end, like Alfred.

A nobody, inconsequential and convenient.

"He's...a difficult man, I admit."

Alfred lidded his eyes and lifted his brow, giving Ludwig his best droll look, and Alfred thought that, for just one second, Ludwig's lips had twitched. Just a second, fleeting, gone before it came, but Alfred felt a little hope.

Ludwig turned his eyes to the window, as the curtain fluttered from the heat that kicked on, and added, "He's not as bad as he appears. Sometimes. He just expects so much of me. I think he forgets that he's my brother, and not my father."

"Speaking of," Alfred asked, "Where's _he_? And your mother?"

"I don't know where he is," Ludwig answered, ever watching the window, shoulders high and tense. "My mother is dead. Gilbert's mother is back in Germany, as is our father, I imagine. He raised Gilbert in the manner Gilbert raised me. He had everything perfectly planned out, according to Gilbert. He was an engineer, and wanted Gilbert to one day own his own company. Gilbert strove for that, and created it, as our father wanted. But then... When Gilbert met Toris, everything changed. My father wanted everything to go the way _he_ wanted it, and Gilbert falling in love with a man was not part of that plan. He divorced Gilbert's mother, and met mine. He started a new family, to try again, because Gilbert wasn't what he wanted anymore. Gilbert's mother cut him off, as well, after. Gilbert chose Toris over her, you see."

Hereditary, then, that sense of control and domination.

That must have been why high-strung Gilbert considered two men marrying so improper—his father and mother had disowned him for being with another man.

Alfred listened, as Ludwig spoke almost mechanically.

"When I was two, my mother died unexpectedly. Again, that was not a part of my father's plan. So he drove me to Gilbert's and left me there on his doorstep. Gilbert and Toris raised me. I don't know what became of my father. I imagine he started over yet again. Perhaps the third time was the charm for him. Maybe he has what he wants now."

Alfred pushed his lips out, thoughtfully, hands clasped and glancing at Ludwig very frequently to assess his mood.

So far, so good.

Awkward and melancholy, yeah, but Ludwig wasn't stalking off and slamming doors, so everything seemed on track.

Alfred looked at Ludwig, though, and just wanted to suddenly ask, 'What do _you_ want?'

It was very likely that no one had ever asked Ludwig that.

Before Alfred could speak, Ludwig murmured, softly, "Gilbert wanted to leave the company to me."

"Wanted to?"

Ludwig's soft voice didn't match his blank face, nor the way he was suddenly studying his fingernails very pointedly.

A short hesitation, before Ludwig carried on, "When he found out about Ivan and I, he was furious. He threatened to cut me out of the will, out of everything. I was...terrified. Without Gilbert, I have nothing. He could ruin me with a snap of his fingers. I think— He was embarrassed. I disgraced him."

Alfred scoffed, bitterly, and griped, "What's the big deal? _He's_ with a man. Not like you chose that."

Ludwig gave a 'hm', ever looking downward.

"He expected more from _me_ , he said. He wanted me to carry on the name. Produce heirs."

Heirs?

Alfred laughed suddenly, without meaning to, because it was absurd.

Ludwig looked over at him, but didn't seem so angry that time, and when Alfred bit the laughter down, Alfred managed to say, "Heirs! You say it like he expects you to rule the world. Like you guys are royalty or something. It's just a company. So what if there's no one to leave it to after you? Give it to the world. Who cares? You'll be dead. Why would you care? Why would _he_?"

Ludwig's pale eyes flitted endlessly over Alfred's face, his expression once more unreadable, and then Ludwig looked away, and whispered, "I never thought of it like that."

Another long silence, before there was another whisper, this time so deep and low that Alfred almost couldn't hear it at all.

"Ivan used to say that if Gilbert wanted an heir so badly, then we would just adopt one. Ha... As if that would have ever lived up to Gilbert's standards. It's not the same."

"I don't mean offense," Alfred muttered, "But Gilbert's standards seem kinda unfair. He's no different."

Ludwig uttered, predictably, "Gilbert's a good man. He is, really, he's just... He worked so hard to build this company. Everything we have, all of us, is because of him. He deserves to have things go the way he wants them. I let him down. Several times. Gilbert considers our line sacred. We can trace it back one thousand years, to princes and nobles, and he feels as if _I'll_ be the one who will let it all end. He's berated me about it endlessly for the past eight years."

Couldn't imagine the immense amount of pressure on Ludwig's shoulders, put there by narcissistic, egotistical, domineering Gilbert.

Men like that.

Gilbert wanted to do as he wished, wanted to be happy with _his_ man, and therefore assumed that Ludwig would suffer. Half-brothers—the same father. It wasn't Ludwig's fault that genetics had struck twice. It wasn't a tragedy, and it wasn't Ludwig's fault. He didn't seem to understand that, though, because Gilbert didn't.

Alfred just said, lowly, "It's your life. Not his. He had his already."

Ludwig made a noise deep in his throat, and said no more about Gilbert that night.

When Alfred turned the conversation to Toris, however, Ludwig's mood lightened and his face changed, his voice was higher and happier, and he had nothing but praise. Seemed to love Toris very much, was very easygoing when speaking about him, and just in that tone of voice Alfred knew that, of this entire lot, Toris was really the only one that Alfred could trust to be straight with him.

Toris was the safe zone in this little world, and Alfred logged that away.

Well. Perhaps 'safe' was a strong word. Acceptable, more like.

Toris was the man Alfred so far found the least detestable, but Alfred still didn't like him, thought he was a jerk, another powerful man corrupted, complacent with Gilbert's harshness and ignoring it for his own benefit. Toris was certainly as bad as Gilbert, although he presented himself more gently. A lighthouse amongst the turbulent sea, but one that likely was just going to dash Alfred upon the rocks whenever the time was right.

But Ludwig loved Toris, that was easy to see, and he loved Gilbert.

Loved Ivan.

It seemed that every man that Alfred disliked and was cautious of, Ludwig would without fail chime in to say, 'He's a good man.'

Ludwig seemed to prefer to see the good in everyone, or, at the very least, everyone he cared about. Everyone in Ludwig's circle seemed distasteful, but Ludwig exalted them all the same, bless his heart. Brilliant, sure, but a little dim.

Alfred felt he had his work cut out for him this time.

This family, this line, this company—Alfred was in over his head here. Men like these were far out of his element.

And Ludwig seemed out of place, too.

As protectiveness steadily grew without Alfred being fully aware of it, Alfred found himself glancing very frequently at Ludwig, even when Ludwig was perfectly safe.

Someone should have _cared_ about Ludwig.


	8. Chasing Delusions

**Chapter 8**

**Chasing Delusions**

Saturday morning, once more at the crack of dawn, Ludwig was awake.

Alfred had hoped he would sleep in, and was disappointed to sit up crankily and see Ludwig in the kitchen. He was dressed already, in something more like athletic wear, and honest to god Alfred groaned in distress when Ludwig said to Alfred, "I'm going for a jog. I'll be back in an hour."

"Like hell," Alfred rasped, dutifully pulling himself up and fretting about what to do.

Ludwig must have known, as he eyed Alfred up and down, that Alfred was not exactly a jogger. Wasn't a cardio man at all, hated it in fact.

Hopefully, Alfred tried, "Sure you don't wanna come with to the gym instead? Hit the weights?"

Ludwig's droll look, and he began, "No. I have a—"

"Routine," Alfred finished, blandly. "I know. I know. Alright, just—! Just give me a minute, man, alright?"

Ludwig glanced at his watch, much less gaudy and expensive than Gilbert's, and Alfred was appalled to see Ludwig literally set a one minute timer.

Shit.

He had forgotten that Ludwig was very, very literal.

Alfred scrambled, grabbed his gym clothes, and had barely come back downstairs before Ludwig was opening the door. Cold air and pink light. The smell of the city, muted under the frost. It was pretty out, sure, but Alfred bitched away endlessly in his head as Ludwig began his jog, struggling to find pace and balance and hardly keeping up.

Couldn't lose the bastard, just couldn't, and Alfred huffed along behind him, miserable and red-faced, the cold air stinging his throat as he panted.

Ludwig was trying to kill him.

How Alfred survived that jog he could never say; had been entirely fueled by the adrenaline brought up by the thought of Gilbert throwing him through the office window should anything have happened to Ludwig just because bulky, fatass Alfred couldn't keep up with blondie during a morning run.

What a way to go.

There was no way in hell that even bulkier, fatass Ivan had done this, either, because it took a muscle-head to understand another one, after all, and so it must have been strange for Ludwig to have company.

He glanced back very frequently, to make sure Alfred was still there.

That was nice, in spite of it all.

Alfred was positively wheezing by the time they made it back to Ludwig's house, and he doubled over the second they were inside, gasping for air so hard that his chest rattled, and Ludwig made coffee as Alfred collapsed on the couch and tried not to die.

A while later, at the table, Alfred wiped his sweaty bangs out of his eyes, sore and tired and grumpy, and he thought that, for a moment, Ludwig had actually almost smiled.

Maybe he was seeing things.

When Ludwig stood up to make breakfast, Alfred watched him as protectively as ever, and didn't miss that Ludwig glanced back at him from time to time. Ludwig wasn't really ignoring him anymore, and seemed to be steadily accepting Alfred as his sudden and unexpected housemate.

Alfred tried to engage him, tried to connect with him a little, because he still didn't know much about Ludwig himself.

Grasping at conversational straws, Alfred abruptly asked, "Why don't you play something on the piano later?"

Ludwig turned the stove off, looked back at Alfred, and then said, calmly, "I don't play. That's Ivan's. He's the musical one, not me. I can't play any instruments."

Alfred lowered his eyes, pursed his lips, feeling stupid, and just grunted, "Hm!"

Once more, Alfred had unintentionally put his foot in his mouth.

This time, though, when Ludwig set the table and sat down, Alfred glanced up and could see that his face hadn't become blank. He hadn't withdrawn, hadn't put on that mask, and that was surely a good sign that Ludwig was coming around.

Maybe.

Before Alfred could try to instigate more conversation, Ludwig added, almost proudly, "Ivan also plays the guitar. There's one in the closet, in the bedroom. Do you play?"

A nearly hopeful question.

Alfred hated being a disappointment, but had to shake his head all the same.

It was Ludwig that time that uttered, "Hm."

They fell into yet another silence, as Alfred observed Ludwig as always, and it wasn't lost on Alfred that look on Ludwig's face as he had spoken so briefly about Ivan. That light in his eyes, the quick glimpse of pride. Had looked more like a father bragging about his son, for just a moment. Ludwig loved Ivan, and that was very obvious in many ways, but this was the first instance in which Alfred had directly seen it displayed there on Ludwig's face.

As if nothing had ever happened.

Toris had said that Ludwig couldn't see Ivan for what he was, and Alfred could sense that, too.

That Saturday was spent attempting to be around each other for an extended period of time in a house, getting a feel for each other, and when Ludwig pulled out some papers and began doing what was clearly work, Alfred tried to distract himself.

He went into the kitchen, and tried to fix that crooked cabinet door, because seeing it was going to drive him crazy.

Would have to paint over those claw marks when Ludwig was at work.

If Ludwig knew what Alfred was doing in the kitchen, then he didn't say anything, sitting there on the couch sideways, one long leg pulled up to use it as a surface for his pencil.

Hours later, when the sun was lowering and Ludwig finished up, Alfred figured he may as well get it over with.

Time to address it, once and for all.

Alfred finally made good on his intent to continue interrogating Ludwig about his husband. It had been because Alfred didn't want to be punched again or cause Ludwig undue duress that he had given him a few days reprieve to begin with, and he didn't see the point in putting it off anymore.

Time to get more information.

For him to do this job efficiently, he needed to be able to think like Ivan, and right now he just couldn't. He was used to being in the minds of criminals. Could understand them, sure, could understand money, drugs, territory, power. All of that made sense to him, because he was used to it. It was easy to protect a terrible person from another terrible person, because Alfred was able to think like the men he was fending off.

But he couldn't think like the bad guy this time, because Ivan at the moment was more like a phantom, and beyond that, Alfred just couldn't really look at Ludwig and see why anyone would want to hurt him.

Couldn't think like Ivan, and Alfred felt vulnerable for it.

He was too familiar with Ludwig's position to be able to find foothold in Ivan's, and that wasn't going to be good enough in the long run.

Pressure was intense. The need to protect Ludwig was very potent, helped greatly along by this sense of mystery and confusion. Being in the dark made Alfred feel uneasy, and the only light visible was Ludwig. Naturally, Alfred drifted to him.

Although Ludwig had paler eyes, paler skin, paler hair, it was still easy to glance at Ludwig and see a little bit of someone else.

Wouldn't screw up again.

So, when Ludwig served dinner, after an entire day of gathering his nerves, Alfred honed in, focused, and said, pointedly, "So, Ludwig, let's talk a little."

Ludwig, probably knowing what Alfred wanted, shifted his weight and braced his shoulders, replying, softly, "Very well."

No point in dragging it out.

Before Alfred could actually speak, however, Ludwig went to the cabinet, leaned over, and pulled out a bottle of wine. Alfred waited and watched as Ludwig uncorked it and sat back down, glass in hand and already pouring. This time, Ludwig didn't even offer any to Alfred, and it was very clear his intention to drink the entire thing by himself again. Alfred didn't argue, because maybe a tipsy Ludwig would be easier to pry information out of.

Ludwig filled the glass to the brim, half the damn bottle, and Alfred was quite impressed when Ludwig took a deep breath and started chugging. Actually chugging, and when Ludwig put the glass down again it was empty.

Alright, then.

The rest of the bottle was poured into the glass, and Alfred cleared his throat and began, "Where does Ivan live now? Do you have an address?"

Ludwig shook his head, and muttered, "I don't know."

Not helpful at all, and Alfred wasn't sure if it was because Ludwig really didn't know or if he was just protecting Ivan once more.

Crazy bastard.

Alfred ate quietly and quickly, trying to keep up some semblance of normalcy despite this crazy conversation.

Damn, though, could Ludwig ever cook.

Prodding him along as usual, Alfred tried, "If you had to take a wild guess, where would he be?"

The steady crinkling of Ludwig's brow. The pursing of his lips.

Knew he was upsetting Ludwig, but there was no other way around it.

After a stiff silence, Ludwig grumbled, "I suppose... Perhaps on Coney Island. He has a cousin there. I don't know where else he would be. It was always just us."

Ludwig looked so disheartened, suddenly, and that was when Alfred knew that Ludwig wasn't lying; he really _didn't_ know where Ivan was, where he was staying, and for it was distraught.

Had Ludwig known where Ivan was, no doubt Ludwig would be there this very second, running into Ivan's arms.

Alfred quickly pushed that thought from his head.

As Ludwig tackled more wine, face already flushed red, Alfred continued, "Tell me a little more about Ivan. So I know what I'm dealing with here. What does he do for work?"

Ludwig's lower voice, barely a rumble, distant thunder.

"He's an astronautical engineer. He works for a Russian-owned company. One of our partners."

Alfred, feeling a little dumb, risked being thought less of himself by asking, softly, "What's the difference between an aeronautical engineer and an astronautical one?"

Ludwig ran his already bleary eyes over Alfred's face, but didn't mock him or give him that patented sneer. Rather, Ludwig just replied, patiently, "An aeronautical engineer designs craft meant to travel within the Earth's atmosphere. An astronautical engineer designs craft meant to go to space."

"Oh."

Two brilliant, ambitious men, who seemed miles above Alfred's head, as high up as the machines they designed.

Alfred pushed down his own insecurities and asked, "Where is this company? What building does he work in?"

Another falling of Ludwig's face.

"It doesn't matter," Ludwig murmured, eyes on his wine glass. "He lost his job about eight months ago. He just... He was so out of sorts. Falling apart. They let him go."

Good. Deserved it, the bastard, and then some.

"Where's he work now?"

Ludwig replied, "I don't know. I can't imagine that he's successfully holding a job now, the way he's become. He can't seem to think straight. He must be living off of his savings."

Ludwig looked so _sad_ , so sad, and that was the worst part. As if Ludwig was worried about Ivan's well-being, as if he was _upset_ , thinking of his abusive husband being out of a job and living in a bad part of town. As if Ludwig was fretting endlessly about Ivan's situation.

Didn't make sense.

Alfred shook his head to himself, exhaled, and tried to keep his temper in check, because he was getting a little agitated. Needed to stay very calm, very cool, very laidback, because even though Ludwig was quite a stoic man, quite in control, in the back of his mind Alfred was always afraid of being a little rowdy and startling him. Scaring Ludwig, in any way, would have made him feel like a piece of garbage, that was for sure.

Toris said Ludwig didn't need a hero; Alfred disagreed.

Probably only because he was so desperate to _be_ a hero that he was willing to do the mental gymnastics needed to make Ludwig appear weaker than he actually was.

And now, then, with Ivan's job and whereabouts established, or rather lack thereof, it was time for the not-so-fun part.

Getting a feel for this elusive man.

Ludwig finished off the rest of the wine, in what surely must have been a record time for demolishing an entire bottle, and Alfred took a breath.

Here we go.

"Tell me about Ivan. What's he like? What kind of a man is he? Other than— Well. You know."

Other than a wife-beater, he had nearly said.

Ludwig must have known, but mercifully let it slide without any punches that time. That glare burned, though.

The way Ludwig shielded Ivan even when he wasn't there was rather terrifying in some way to Alfred.

But then, suddenly, something remarkable happened :

Ludwig's face softened, his brow lifted, his lips twitched upward, and suddenly Ludwig was _smiling_ , prettily, in a manner that was reminiscent of the smile in that photograph. The first time he had seen Ludwig smile in person, the first time he had seen any real, true emotion there upon his face. Looked so wistful then, looked happy, and it was very easy to see that thinking of Ivan made Ludwig feel content. Was so easy to see that Ludwig, despite it all, was still in love with his husband.

It wasn't right.

One thing stood out in that moment to Alfred, above all else; when Ludwig _smiled_ , he was beautiful. Absolutely lit up, and it was so easy to see there how good a person Ludwig was, beneath that icy exterior. The complete opposite of the men that surrounded him. Kind and caring, in his own stern way.

Beneath the ice, the crystal waters were lovely.

Ludwig looked up, met Alfred's gaze, his eyes crinkled with that attractive smile, and he said, in a beautiful, soft voice, "Ivan is wonderful. He truly is. He's one of the best men I've ever met. Everything about him. He's responsible. Caring. He's very protective—"

Alfred scoffed at that, despite himself, but Ludwig, caught up in those memories, either didn't notice or didn't care.

Ludwig's voice then was as pretty as his smile, warm and bright and lit up as much as the air around him.

How Ludwig loved Ivan.

Written there upon his face.

It was clear to Alfred that Ludwig was speaking then about the Ivan he had married, not the Ivan that Alfred was guarding him from, and so Alfred just bit his tongue and listened, because seeing that look on Ludwig's face was actually fascinating.

"He's brilliant. Brilliant. He's the smartest man I've ever met. So far above me, you don't know. Absolutely brilliant. He can calculate anything up in his head, just like that, impossible equations and sums. As if it's nothing. He's so well-spoken. He's charming, polite, well-mannered. A perfect gentleman, if you will. He's extremely professional. He has a fantastic sense of time management. I would panic and stress about one extra minute here and there, and he would always find a way to perfectly rearrange my schedule so that everything worked out as it should, to the last second. I couldn't have survived these years in that company without him, I couldn't have. Ivan has saved me in every possible way. He has a very high sense of duty. He would do anything for anyone he cares about. The perfect sort of family man. He's not afraid of anything. Absolutely and utterly fearless. I've never met anyone so brave. He's fast, powerful. He's cunning, quick on his toes. He thinks so quickly, sees things so _quickly_ , clearly."

Ludwig couldn't seem to stop now that he had started, and Alfred wanted to bark, 'Alright, enough already, shut the hell up', but stayed silent.

Ludwig probably hadn't been able to just sit and _speak_ to anyone in his entire life.

Gilbert was always judging Ludwig.

"He's brilliant on the piano. I always liked to watch him play. He has such big hands, rough from machinery, and it always seemed so funny to me, seeing him play. How quick his hands can move. The farthest thing from a pianist's hands and yet he was remarkable all the same. I could watch him a million times and never get sick of it. His mother wanted him to be a cosmonaut, and I have no doubt he could have done that, too. He loved her so much. As much as everything else, he was the perfect son. He called her every morning before work, just to see how she was. He— He's..."

Ludwig trailed off for just a second, seemed to stumble, falter, stammer, and Alfred leaned forward subconsciously across the table when Ludwig's face abruptly and randomly collapsed.

Looked ready to suddenly burst into tears.

Ludwig bowed his head, sucked in air as he gathered himself, and Alfred watched him, ready to leap up and come over to place a hand on Ludwig's back if the breakdown occurred.

It didn't; Ludwig pulled it back together, right there on the brink, found his bravery, and steadied himself.

A long silence, and then Ludwig murmured, in a rougher voice, "I _miss_ him. I miss seeing his face. His eyes. He— I can't— I still expect to wake up with him there beside of me. I haven't adjusted. I can't accept it. I know why you're here, I do, and I know why Gilbert is doing this, but _god_ — I miss his hands."

Alfred bit down the urge to snip, cruelly, 'Even when they're hitting you?'

...sad.

Alfred glanced down at Ludwig's hand, remembered that Ivan still wore his own ring, and didn't know why he asked, "Where's your ring, then? If you still love him."

Didn't know why he felt agitated, annoyed. Angry. Ludwig being in love with Ivan still was extremely disconcerting to him, beyond the obvious. Couldn't ever fully explain it.

Ludwig stared at Alfred, stared and stared, and suddenly he reached down beneath the collar of his sweater and pulled out a chain that had been hidden from sight. Alfred was quite floored to see the ring dangling there from it, and it was obviously the missing counterpart to Ivan's.

Had been there all along. Alfred merely hadn't known.

Ludwig rolled the ring absently between his fingers, carefully and lovingly, and said, "I have to wear it like this. Gilbert, you know. He saw me wearing it when I left the hospital and blew a gasket. He slapped me. Told me to take it off, and that he never wanted to see it again." Ludwig's look darkened. "I have to do what he says, naturally. So. I wear it like this, so Gilbert won't see. God forbid he let me make my own decisions."

Alfred lowered his eyes to the table, removed his glasses, and played around with them a little because he felt awkward and uneasy and needed something to do.

Another long silence, as Ludwig stared quite longingly down at that ring, and Alfred attempted to think of something comforting to say. But nothing came to mind, nothing at all, and Ludwig seemed so far out of reach yet to him, mentally. Ludwig thought so differently, felt so differently, saw the world and the people in it so differently, and Alfred was having trouble understanding.

Felt as if Ludwig stood atop a cliff while Alfred was caught in sea mist down below.

When Alfred looked back up, a while later, Ludwig's face was quite blank. Distant. Had buried his emotions again, the frost had come back, and Alfred found his voice again.

"So. Then. I gotta tell ya, I'm— None of this makes sense to me. I mean, how does someone like you end up in this situation? You're so smart. How did all this happen? Why did you just...give up? All these people around you all the time. Someone could have helped."

It was impossible for Alfred to understand, because he didn't think like Ludwig did. Couldn't comprehend Ludwig's motivations, his hesitations, why Ludwig had stayed silent. Why Ludwig had had the chance to end all of this and press charges, and had chosen instead to turn his head.

Did reputations really mean that much to him?

Ludwig seemed so tired then, so worn down, so weary, and just stared at Alfred in a sadly subdued manner.

His voice was low. Barely a rumble. As tired as his face.

"It's not so easy to explain. I don't know how to... No one would ever listen to me, when I tried to talk about it. Gilbert just won't let me say anything. He won't listen. He stopped any conversation short. Said he didn't want to know anything at all about Ivan. He hates him so much, you see, so I— And Toris, it's different with him. I can tell him anything, I know that, because he does listen, well sometimes, but looking at him, all I see is that I'll disappoint him. Letting Toris down is somehow worse than letting Gilbert down. They only hear what they want to hear, and they didn't listen to me."

A surge of anger.

Knew it all along, those miserable bastards, Toris and Gilbert, too selfish and cold to care about what was happening right in front of them—

But, once again, Ludwig and Alfred had had a misunderstanding.

Alfred thought that Ludwig meant that no one had listened when he had tried to get help, but no; Ludwig had meant something else entirely.

Ludwig met Alfred's eyes, those pale irises lit up in the light above, and Ludwig added, "They just didn't want to hear anything that might have cast Ivan in a better light. They've already made their judgments about him, and don't want to hear my side. I tried to explain to them that it's not really Ivan's fault, but they won't hear me out."

Alfred nearly groaned, and set his glasses aside to bury his face in his palms and run them over his eyes.

God almighty, _Ludwig_!

Took everything in Alfred then not to sigh.

Yet again, for the hundredth time that week, Alfred's anger collapsed in on itself like a neutron star and left him utterly exhausted. This kid was gonna be the death of him, he knew it.

Not Ivan's fault. Sure. Tale as old as time, wasn't it, the old 'not their fault'.

At Alfred's posture, Ludwig fell silent, no doubt trying to gage Alfred's mood again.

As Alfred tried to just sink into the ground and out of existence, Ludwig finally spoke again, to whisper, "Will you just...listen to me? It's not his fault, really, and if someone would just listen—"

"No," Alfred said, sternly and tiredly, and ran his palms down his face.

Didn't wanna hear it. Didn't.

Ludwig was the one to lean across the table then, and his voice was ever lower, deeper, as he asked, more urgently, "Just, please, just hear me out, no one has ever just listened, please—"

"No," Alfred repeated, more sternly, hands now on the table and eyes closed.

Couldn't stand it.

Wouldn't listen, couldn't, because it was too close to him. Ludwig didn't know, didn't understand, but Alfred just couldn't.

"Alfred—"

" _No_!" Alfred said, powerfully, meaning to end it once and for all, and he made a motion to stand.

In a moment of desperation, perhaps, Ludwig reached across the table, grabbed Alfred's hand in his own, and beseeched, deeply, " _Please_."

He fell still at the touch.

Alfred stared at Ludwig's hand for a very long time, and, dumbly, was surprised by how warm it was. Ludwig was ice, so somehow Alfred expected him to be cooler to the touch.

Like Toris had been unable to say 'no' to Ludwig about attending his wedding, Alfred couldn't take anymore of that look, hated the sight of it, and caved in. Gave up and relented.

Hell. This entire situation was pitiful, it just was, and so Alfred exhaled heavily, shrugged a tired shoulder, and conceded, wearily, "Alright. Alright."

Ludwig seemed deeply relieved, and it took him a moment before he withdrew his hand.

Alfred was a little disappointed.

Had to push through this, as he pushed through everything else, and try to understand Ludwig just a little bit.

After a gathering of words and thoughts, Ludwig met Alfred's eyes, and started speaking.


	9. Searching the Past

**Chapter 9**

**Searching the Past**

"I met Ivan when I was sixteen."

How Ludwig chose to begin the conversation.

One damn sentence, and Alfred already wanted to raise his hand in the air and demand that Ludwig stop before he even started, because he hadn't exactly signed up to listen to their entire ridiculous love story, and that was being kind.

In the end, he shut up and listened, because he supposed the only way to understand Ludwig as he was now was to understand Ludwig as he had been then.

Alfred turned his chair to the side, straddled it and rested his head atop folded arms, and settled his eyes on the kitchen window. Couldn't look at Ludwig during this spiel, couldn't, because he didn't want to be influenced in his opinion by Ludwig's facial expressions as he spoke about Ivan.

Ludwig was biased, and so Alfred watched the window and merely listened, forming his own movie up in his head.

Just envisioned everything Ludwig said, as if he were seeing it for himself.

His own personal theatre.

In his mind then, a sixteen-year-old Ludwig, handsome and bright and yet so cold, posture perfect and chin high even as he sunk under Gilbert's ruthless expectations. Presenting himself perfectly to the world as Gilbert had taught him, all the while drowning inside.

"Ivan came to do business with Gilbert. This was before we were partner companies. Ivan was twenty-six then, but very ready to take on Gilbert and be the face of his company. I was there that day, because— I had upset Gilbert. I had just finished enduring my punishment. I was leaving Gilbert's office as Ivan was entering. I'm ashamed to say I think I was crying. He tried to calm me down. I ran away, rather cowardly."

Alfred let the movie play out.

Used that photo of Ivan from Ludwig's wallet to complete the mental image. That gentler looking man, the normal one, the one who Ludwig had fallen for, a man who had not yet lost his mind.

Alfred pictured it all, but was aware that this was Ludwig's story. Ludwig, who shielded and protected Ivan as much as any bodyguard ever could. He kept that in mind. Just a fairytale.

That skyscraper.

A vulnerable young Ludwig, a child and yet not, because Gilbert had never let Ludwig be a child, running out of Gilbert's glass office in panic, vertigo on full display. A young, strong Ivan, crashing into him and reaching out instinctively, placing his big hands atop Ludwig's shoulders and forcing him still.

Didn't know what Ivan sounded like, so in his head Alfred just used some made-up voice that was likely a mix of Toris and Gilbert, but less cold.

'Whoa! Are you alright?'

Ivan looking down at distraught Ludwig, as Ludwig immediately pulled himself together as Gilbert had taught him, pulling on his mask and saying, curtly, 'Of course. Excuse me.'

Ludwig breaking out of Ivan's grip and marching on, as Ivan looked over his shoulder, brow high and half-smiling, already very interested however inappropriate it may have been, because Ivan was only a man and Ludwig was beautiful.

Love at first sight, no doubt.

"The business went well, needless to say, and shortly after the companies became partners. Ivan came by frequently in the beginning, during the merger. I was often there as well, as Gilbert taught me from a very young age how to run the business. When Gilbert wasn't looking, Ivan would come over and speak to me. I was drawn to him instantly. No one had ever talked to _me_ , or noticed me. No one had been nice to me for no reason. I was used to being held to stringent expectations. But Ivan just talked to me, like we were normal people. He asked me all about myself, as if he wanted to get to know me for me. I don't even know who I am, because I'm only who Gilbert tells me to be, but Ivan liked me anyway. I couldn't understand, but that was the only time I had ever felt happy."

Ludwig looking cold and miserable in those photos at Gilbert's manor; that must have been how he had looked back then, unapproachable and distant, and yet Ivan had gone up to Ludwig all the same. Somehow, Ivan had managed to melt that ice, after days and weeks of relentless trying, of squirming up to Ludwig, and Alfred could see Ludwig suddenly smiling at Ivan, as Ivan finally breached those defenses. That pretty smile that was so rare, and maybe that was when Ivan had fallen in love.

But Gilbert was always lurking, and so Ivan stayed in shadows.

"When I was seventeen, Ivan asked me to come with him to the theatre one night. I panicked. I wanted to go so badly, but I knew Gilbert would be furious. I told Ivan that instead of the theatre, if he really wanted to go out, then he could wait for me outside at midnight and I could try to meet him for a walk. So, for the first time in my life, I disobeyed the rules of the house, and I snuck out after Gilbert had gone to bed."

That huge glass house, looming there along the beach. Ludwig, slipping Ivan the gate code so that Ivan could wait there behind a sand dune. Ludwig, no doubt absolutely terrified of waking Gilbert, walking softly and silently, creeping down the stairs and through one of those huge doors. A look around, loose hair blowing in the wind, the sound of the waves crashing, and then Ludwig spotted Ivan and made a mad dash for him. An awkward hug, perhaps, as Ivan inclined his head to the beach and formally asked Ludwig for a walk along it.

Ludwig, entranced and unused to affection, normality, nodding his head and staring at Ivan as if Ivan had fallen from the sky.

Ivan was a businessman as much as Gilbert, dressed the same, and so it was easy to envision Ivan so out of place there on the dark beach, smiling away even as sand crept into his expensive socks and shoes. His tie blowing in the wind. Ludwig at his side, always looking over his shoulder for Gilbert but trying so hard, just that once, to feel free and happy.

Maybe, when the sky tinted a faint pink, Ivan had gathered the courage to reach out and grab Ludwig's hand as he walked him back to the house.

Ludwig lowered his eyes in embarrassment, shy and squirming and yet still smiling.

"When I snuck back in, in the morning, I think I knew I had fallen in love. I knew Gilbert would never approve, never, and so I kept it secret, as long as I could. Ivan was alone, and I felt that way, too, so we relied on each other."

Midnight rendezvous. Letters, written in secret and passed along in shadows. Ivan, knowing that Gilbert's hammer would fall heavily atop him and ruin his reputation if ever he found out, slinking out into the night like a little kid to take Ludwig on walks along the beach.

Ludwig, risking everything, absolutely everything, just to feel loved for one moment in time, to be with someone who didn't place impossible burdens and expectations upon his shoulders. Someone who saw him for what he was and not what he could have been.

Alfred could see them smiling at each other, peacefully, sitting on the sand and watching the glow of the moon on the sea. Two lonely people, out of place and trying to find their way, drifting to each other. Locked in the orbit of the other, and Ludwig for the first time had someone that could outwardly show affection and tell him that he was loved.

How monumental that must have been to someone like Ludwig.

"When I was eighteen, Gilbert found out. I've never seen him so angry. He told me if I wanted to be an adult so badly, if I wanted to be disobedient, if I wanted to be like everyone else, useless and worthless, then I could go do it somewhere else. He gave me an ultimatum; Ivan, or everything I had ever known. I chose Ivan, as Gilbert chose Toris. He was livid. He kicked me out. Ivan immediately stepped up, as he was taught, and took responsibility. He started talking about things... I didn't think he was serious, until he bought this house. That was the first time that I had somewhere to live where I felt like I had a home, and not a prison."

Ludwig, distraught and red-eyed, having been thrust out of the only world he knew, falling into Ivan's arms and burying his face in Ivan's chest. Despair, uncertainty, fear, but then Ivan took Ludwig out to this street, hands over Ludwig's eyes and crooning about a surprise. A lowering of Ivan's hands, a burst of sunlight, and Ludwig exhaled when he realized that he had a home.

Ludwig's beautiful smile, as he and Ivan furnished the house to their liking, teasing each other and playing around and acting like they were just normal people. Painting the kitchen cabinets, as warm light came in through the curtains, and Ivan coming up to Ludwig and grabbing him up, holding him aloft as Ludwig's long legs tangled around his waist. Low words, murmurs, Ludwig playfully smearing paint over the tip of Ivan's nose. Ivan lifting his head to kiss him and cover him with paint, too.

Home.

"Two months after we moved in, Ivan asked me to marry him. I was over the moon. I didn't care anymore if Gilbert really would end up cutting me out of the will, if he disowned me. It didn't matter, because Ivan loved me. So of course I accepted. We were wed three months later. The night before the wedding was the first time I had spoken to Toris since I had left. Toris was furious with me, as well, but somehow he still put it aside to come. That was my best moment. My favorite memory is my wedding. It was very small, very quiet, very private, but it felt like I had won the entire world."

Ivan, standing there outside of the door, ring in his pocket and breathing through his mouth to gather his nerves. A grown man, powerful and brilliant and accomplished, terrified of getting down on one knee and making himself exposed.

But get down on one knee he did, and maybe Ludwig, elated and so vulnerable, had leapt on him and tackled him backwards down onto the ground. Ivan embracing Ludwig, clenching him, because Ludwig had given up everything for Ivan and nothing could ever compare to that feeling of knowing that someone cared about him that much.

How ecstatic Ivan must have been, standing there before Ludwig that day and feeling that his life had finally pieced itself fully together. Ivan was a family man, after all, and being married must have been as monumental to him as being loved had been to Ludwig. Had Ivan called his mother that morning, crying, and said, 'Mama, I'm _married_!'?

No one had ever seen Ludwig before Ivan, but maybe, in the chaotic world, no one had ever seen Ivan there, either.

Putting rings on each other. Meant nothing at all in the grand scheme of the universe, and no one knew it better than two brilliant engineers, but it must have felt extraordinary all the same, because no matter how smart and collected and tactical Ludwig and Ivan were, they were still humans. Just men, just people, and it must have felt heavenly.

Marital life.

"When I started going to the university, Gilbert called me. We came to an agreement, of sorts, and he procured me a position in the company for when I graduated. I was... I thought everything was perfect. The next years were wonderful. The best of my life. I thought it would be that way forever. But then..."

The bright colors and warm atmosphere in Alfred's movie began to dull. Sepia. The edges darkened.

The genre changed.

"Ivan's mother died two years ago. He was devastated. The first time I had ever seen Ivan cry. He cried for weeks. I could barely get him out of bed. He loved her more than anything. It had always just been them, his entire life. He couldn't handle losing her. It was hard, and it took a long time, but he picked himself back up, eventually. He said that as long as _we_ were together, everything would be alright."

Ludwig, sitting on the edge of the bed as Ivan burrowed away under the blanket. Reaching out to place his hand on Ivan's back, face devastated and eyes bleary as he watched his husband grieving and was unable to help. The awful sound of a strong, brave man crying.

Ivan finally pulling himself to his feet after weeks, cheeks heavy with stubble and eyes puffy, the circles hanging beneath, looking like absolute hell and yet trying then to smile, because Ludwig was there and someone still needed him.

"Shortly after that, I noticed that he stopped playing the piano. Everything was alright again for a while, that aside. A little after our sixth anniversary, something started changing. Little things at first. He started sleeping in. I had to wake him up in the morning. That had never happened. He stopped shining his shoes. He would go days without shaving. When I asked him about it, he would say he just forgot. He was forgetting a lot of things, it seemed. After work, he would take naps. That was unusual. It was— I think he was depressed, and I just didn't realize it at first. That was my fault, for not seeing it."

Lethargy, as Ivan lied on his side on the couch and stared blankly at the wall. Withdrawn and quiet. Rundown because he no longer had the desire nor motivation to get up and take care of himself. Ludwig, sitting behind him on the bed and combing his hair, because otherwise it was never getting done. Ivan sitting down at the piano in a moment of confusion, only to stare down at the keys and find himself without the will to lift his hands.

That awful silence and uncertainty that came along when things just weren't the same as they used to be.

Ivan, always staring straight ahead.

"He started getting annoyed easily after. He didn't talk as much. He... When I would speak to him over dinner, he ignored me. Then he started telling me to shut up. That I was...getting on his nerves. He was angry all the time, and sometimes he would scream at me. He had always had a bit of temper, always, that was nothing new, but he had never screamed at me like _that_. I didn't know what to say. So I stopped talking."

Silent dinners, when they used to be loving and fun. Ludwig's eyes on the table, afraid to look up because he didn't want to see Ivan grimace at him. Ivan staring ever ahead, foot tapping in annoyance even as Ludwig stayed deathly still.

Ludwig gathering the courage to finally stand and gather dishes, asking Ivan, 'Are you finished?'

Ivan resting his chin on a fist, glaring at the wall, merely replying, 'What's it look like?'

Ludwig's crinkled brow of hurt.

The home became frostier. More like what Ludwig was used to.

"One night, he was sitting at the table, trying to work on a design. But he couldn't figure it out. He couldn't get it to connect. That had never happened before. He's so brilliant. All I did was lean over his shoulder and look, but it made him so angry. He stood up and slapped me, saying that I was judging him, that if he couldn't design it then there was no way _I_ would ever be able to. He is smarter, after all. He'd never hit me before. I was shocked. He apologized immediately. He said— He said he was so sorry, he didn't mean to, it was just that his head hurt so badly. The next day he stayed home with me and tried to make up for it. That was the first time we had spoken in months. I thought it would get better. It didn't."

Ludwig, a light bruise over his eye, beaming away all the same because Ivan held him up against his chest on the couch and uttered apologies. Ludwig didn't want an apology; he just wanted Ivan to speak to him.

It didn't matter if Ivan's hands were a little rougher than they used to be.

Ludwig was so enamored with Ivan, so relieved, that as he rested his head in the crook of Ivan's neck he just didn't notice Ivan staring testily above his head at the door. Ivan's heart wasn't in it, wasn't in anything, because Ivan was steadily disconnecting with the world and the people in it.

Shadows.

"He had headaches every day. He was always angry, always. I couldn't seem to do anything right anymore. It felt suddenly as if I was living with Gilbert again. Ivan was never satisfied. He began berating me as much as Gilbert ever did. It was my fault, I'm sure, I let Gilbert down so many times, so it wouldn't shock me to realize that I had let him down as well. He slapped me often after that, but it wasn't... I know how it sounds, I do, but it wasn't really like that. He still— He didn't hate me. Sometimes, when he was feeling alright, he would still tell me that he loved me."

Ivan, sitting up in bed in the middle of the night, hissing in pain as he held his head as a migraine roared up. Ludwig, scared and worried, reaching out to comfort him only to be pushed away and slapped. That awful look of hurt on Ludwig's face, as Ivan clenched his hair in his hands and tried to steady his breathing.

Ludwig turning from an eagle into a mouse, taking soft, silent steps and creeping carefully around corners. Cautious and jittery and easily startled, trying to do everything in his power not to shut a door too hard or make a floorboard creak, because it would set off the sleeping dragon. Ludwig lying utterly still at night, afraid to shift and annoy volatile Ivan. Walking on glass at all times.

Ivan walking straight through the door after a bad day at work, and barging up to Ludwig in the kitchen, Ludwig, the one person that loved him, to begin screaming at him. Taking it all out on Ludwig, blaming everything on him. It was Ludwig's fault, Ivan coming apart, and Ludwig would just lower his eyes and brace his shoulders and say, over and over, 'I'm sorry.'

Ludwig looking paler and less lustrous, because Ivan was beginning to wear him down.

Long-sleeve shirts.

"His head starting hurting worse, he said, and he started taking pills. When I asked what they were, he hit me. I didn't ask again. He started taking stronger drugs, anything at all to make his head stop hurting. But it just made him angrier. He became worse. He stopped taking care of himself. His performance at work dropped sharply. He started falling apart. Sometimes, when he looked at me, I felt as if... It's so hard to explain, but I almost felt as if he just didn't recognize me at first, in some way. Everything about him then was so different. Gilbert said— Maybe... Maybe it wasn't that he didn't recognize me; maybe he just didn't want to see me."

Ivan coming unraveled, undone, rolling out of bed in the morning in a heap and grabbing instantly for the dresser, pulling out a bottle of pills and throwing them back. Ludwig ever watching with concern, but knowing better than to ask.

Every day, Ivan lost just a little more of his grip on things, on his life, on his temper, on his emotions. Ivan fell apart, and Ludwig was the one who bore the brunt of his frustrations and wrath and hurt. Ludwig accepted it, because he had witnessed the decline and held hope that the incline could be scaled again. Ludwig had been raised by Gilbert to do whatever it took to succeed, and Ludwig wouldn't give up on Ivan because that simply wasn't in his nature.

But Ivan just got worse, not better.

The pills become more powerful, more frequent, and one day Ludwig woke up and realized that he didn't recognize the man sleeping beside of him anymore. A stranger, that just happened to look like someone Ludwig had once loved. Ludwig coming home, to find a high Ivan sprawled out on the sofa, and tiptoeing quickly past so as not to get his attention and set him off. Ludwig, afraid to open his own door. Afraid to speak, to move, to breathe.

Ivan had became a pulsar.

"It's not what Gilbert thinks, it's not. It's not Ivan's fault. Something is wrong with him, I know it. It's not his fault. He fell apart so fast—it can't be his fault. Do you understand? Can't you see it, too?"

...was that all?

Alfred waited, the film flickering there expectantly, ready for the next scene to load, but it didn't come, because Ludwig fell very silent, and didn't speak anymore.

The curtain fell, and the movie ended.

Ludwig's story came to an abrupt and confusing close, out of nowhere and not at the right time, and to be quite honest Alfred wanted his damn money back.

Ludwig's story was redacted.


	10. One's Weaker Self

**Chapter 10**

**One's Weaker Self**

One of Alfred's stronger points in life had always been his overactive imagination, and many times that was far more of a curse.

Like now.

Because it was pretty damn terrible to see that younger, brighter Ludwig up in his head, to see the movie that Ludwig sold him, and then to open his eyes, look over, and see Ludwig now, downtrodden and sad and defeated, clinging to thin hope despite the world and all odds being against him.

Didn't match up, because Ludwig wasn't being honest.

Ludwig, who had fallen in love and refused to see the fault in Ivan.

A very great deal had been left out of this story. Ludwig had conveniently neglected to mention anything that would have been explained all of those violence markers Alfred had spotted in the house. Ludwig admitted to verbal abuse, slaps, but that was all. Hadn't mentioned the beatings that Alfred knew damn well had occurred, not one time, and hadn't explained what had brought about the pending divorce.

Hadn't explained why Gilbert had hired Alfred.

Hadn't explained why, when Ludwig had first spied Alfred following him, he had begged him not to tell Ivan that he had seen him.

What had happened between Ludwig leaving the hospital and Gilbert hiring Alfred? So many gaps. This was only half of the story, the more acceptable half, and Alfred knew he was being had a bit.

How could Ludwig ever hope for anyone to understand when he glossed things over so much and omitted so many details?

Ludwig tried so hard to make Ivan seem less abusive than he was.

It didn't work with Alfred, as little as it had with Gilbert and Toris. Ludwig could try and try all night, but Alfred wasn't swayed.

Ludwig met his eyes then, and breathed, almost desperately, "Well? Can you understand? Something is wrong with him. It's not his fault. Right? How could he have changed so much, unless something was wrong? He just needs help, but no one will listen to me. Do you understand?"

Oh...

_Wanted_ to, he really did, and maybe in some way he did understand a little. He really did understand that Ludwig wanted so badly to cling to some sense of normalcy, to hold on to that love he had, to pretend that something really was just wrong and that it wasn't Ivan's fault, and yet...

What Ludwig saw wasn't what Alfred saw.

Alfred saw an ambitious man that had started off alright and then had started caving in to the stress of marriage and work, worsened by the death of his mother, and then solidified by drugs. Ivan had spiraled downward, had become depressed and failed to handle it, had become violent and dangerous, and Ludwig couldn't see that, yeah, it _was_ Ivan's fault. It was, because Ivan hadn't taken the proper steps to address his issues, and had turned to drugs instead. Ivan had taken the wrong path, and there was no one to blame but himself. Ludwig could pretend all he wanted, but that didn't change the fact that every decision Ivan made was his own. No one had forced Ivan's fist into the air and demanded that he beat the one person that trusted him all the way.

It was Ivan's fault.

At last, Alfred gave a helpless raise of his shoulders, and said, uselessly, "I'm sorry. I understand... I understand Gilbert. I understand Toris. I can understand why it's easier to let go and just try to keep you safe. It sounds like— It does just feel like...you're trying to protect him, when he doesn't deserve it. I don't... I'm sorry. I don't know what else to _say_."

Ludwig's brow crinkled, he lowered his head, and Alfred could see how disappointed and upset he was that, once more, someone just couldn't understand him.

That another person refused to see the Ivan that he saw.

Alfred was sorry about it, really, but he had seen this more times than he would like, and Ludwig was biased. Too close to the fire to see the danger. Ludwig was in love, and made excuses that other people wouldn't accept. Ludwig was in denial, at the end of the day, and Alfred hated being the one in that moment trying to bring him back to reality. Hated it, but he wasn't going to lie, wasn't going to fold, and wasn't going to tell Ludwig what he wanted to hear, because it wasn't right.

Ludwig was a victim who refused to acknowledge that he was a victim, who denied it so fervently, and Alfred didn't know what to say to him. Ludwig wanted to be in control, and wasn't this time, and there wasn't anything he could do about it anymore.

Ivan was a lost cause, and the sooner Ludwig realized it the better.

Control for Ludwig had been lost long ago, and that hereditary fanaticism for order and routine meant nothing now, not when Ludwig was faced with a man he had no power over.

Ludwig's movie wasn't similar to Alfred's. Ludwig's was the kinder remake, less gritty than the original, easier to stomach.

Alfred's movie was quite different, but more comprehensible :

Ivan had seen Ludwig the first time, someone young and pretty and vulnerable, and had honed in on him because Ivan could sense that Ludwig would have been easy to manipulate. As men like him always did, Ivan was gentle and charming at first. An absolute prince, a gentleman, adoring and caring. Showering Ludwig with attention and affection and gifts, everything Ludwig had never received from Gilbert. Gilbert kicking Ludwig out only gave Ivan more power over him, more control, and Ivan had known that Ludwig had no choice but to stay, because there was nowhere else for him to go. Ivan would have been elated that Gilbert and Toris had thrust Ludwig out, because then he naturally no longer needed to isolate Ludwig from them. They had done it on their own, and Ivan was triumphant. The time was right, and Ivan had proposed so quickly because Ludwig was in an emotionally unsound state. He saw the window of opportunity, and leapt through it. Ludwig, so distraught and lost from Gilbert's rejection, of course would have accepted Ivan's proposal, because the ground beneath him was so shaky. Ludwig sought stability, routine, safety, and Ivan offered it to him with a ring.

The first step into the trap.

Maybe Ivan had been loving for a while, to keep Ludwig happy and there.

It became less and less necessary every year to dote upon Ludwig, because Ivan had already snared him, had already married him, had already locked him down, and Ludwig had no recourse. Ludwig had chosen Ivan over the world, and lied in that bed he had made.

Perhaps the death of Ivan's mother had indeed been the catalyst for a shift, but if that was the case, then it was only a convenient excuse. Those sentiments had always been there in Ivan, just beneath the surface. It would have eventually come out, one way or another, and the death of someone close had just been a good reason for Ivan to finally let his latent personality come to the top.

Ludwig was his; Ivan showed his true colors.

It started as it always did, with verbal abuse. Then slaps, here and there, but at first Ivan would always apologize after. Showing up with flowers, gifts, love letters, whatever. Anything to make Ludwig forget, to keep him still. Conditioning Ludwig to take more and more.

And then one night, out of nowhere, instead of slapping Ludwig, Ivan had punched him.

Ludwig, as always, didn't say a word.

From that one punch, it collapsed, everything fell apart, and Ivan knew he could do as he pleased because Ludwig _needed_ him. Ludwig couldn't leave him, because Ludwig would lose everything, there were so many reputations to think about. Ivan had complete control over Ludwig, and Ludwig didn't make a move to leave because that was what Ludwig was most comfortable with at the end of the day.

Gilbert had controlled Ludwig his entire life, and for Ludwig it was merely a shift into different hands. Familiar.

Some nights, dinner just didn't go well. The path of violence was so easy to see, because it was marked; something happened, something set Ivan off, and Ivan punched Ludwig. When he fell, Ivan might have kicked him there against the cabinets, causing that dent. When Ludwig managed to get traction and try to run, Ivan grabbed at him, and Ludwig reached out to snatch the archway, clawing the paint. Ludwig wouldn't hit Ivan back, but somehow wriggled away, as Ivan ripped out a good bit of hair. Ludwig, dripping blood, scaled the stairs; Ivan, lagging behind, grabbed Ludwig's pant-leg through the railing. A struggle, a tug of war, but Ludwig won and managed to get inside the second bedroom. Ivan, furious and out of control, rammed the door.

Some nights, Ludwig opened it. Some nights he didn't. Some nights Ludwig didn't make it to the bedroom, and was caught before he could escape.

But still, the next day, as Ludwig winced as he walked and was covered neck to ankle with bruises, Ivan would kiss his cheek, tell him he loved him, and that he was sorry.

'It won't happen again.'

'That was the last time.'

'I didn't mean to, baby, I swear.'

'You made me do it.'

Ludwig, not knowing anything outside of controlling men, submitted, as he always had to Gilbert, and nodded his head. Ludwig believed Ivan, and even when Ludwig was in too much pain to really move, he would still smile at Ivan over the table, confident that it was just a bad day and that tomorrow would be better.

Tomorrow would be different.

Things had gotten worse when Ivan had started popping pills. The violence heightened. Anger was exacerbated. The beatings became more frequent. When Ludwig fell, Ivan pinned him down, knees on either side of him, and choked him until he lost consciousness.

In the morning, Ludwig came to in the pale light of dawn there on the cold kitchen floor. Ivan, off to work, picked him up and put him on the sofa, kissed his forehead, and whispered a goodbye. Ludwig, barely lucid and perhaps concussed, dressed with shaking hands, made sure every bruise was hidden, and then went to work, tucked away in his office.

A wilting wallflower that nobody paid attention to.

How had it all ended?

Perhaps Ludwig, ever so stringent, just couldn't keep hiding the bruises, and so instead he called out of work when one night had just gone too far and he was simply unable to move at all. That was what eventually would have caught Gilbert's attention, and only that, Ludwig missing work. Inexcusable.

Gilbert must have been furious, offended, that Ludwig would have the gall to miss a day of work, and had likely taken it personally.

Perhaps Gilbert had left that office to come find his brother and forcibly drag him into work, because Gilbert's entire life revolved around that company and therefore he expected Ludwig's to, as well. But when Gilbert unlocked the door and came inside, what he saw there wasn't what he had expected.

The house in disarray. Blood stains on the carpet. Glass in the kitchen, from a plate or a cup that had been thrown. Handprints on the floor, perhaps, as Ludwig had sliced his palms on the shards. Those fingernail marks on the wallpaper. The dented cabinet door.

Had Ludwig's voice been hoarse when he had called out of work, from Ivan's hands around his throat?

Gilbert must have looked around at the house, him or Toris, whichever, and must have been shocked. Astounded. Dumbfounded into stillness. Could just imagine Gilbert looking around that house and wondering if perhaps it had been burglarized. Must have looked that way, even if the door had been locked. How Toris would have looked, that condescending expression changing into a wide-eyed look of panic.

Alfred hoped they had been hurt, for more than just their reputations.

Alfred could only see Gilbert walking into that chaotic scene, following the drops of blood up the staircase and into the guest bedroom, where perhaps Ludwig had huddled under the blankets for a while to gather his strength and find temporary sanctuary. Alfred could envision the look on Gilbert's face, when he pulled back the sheet to see his little brother there, bruised and bloodied, trying to hide away. Hoped it had been devastated, but Alfred imagined that Gilbert had looked rather more disappointed. Maybe he had scoffed, derisively, and shook his head, rolled his eyes.

Or maybe it had been Toris that had come, sent out by an angry Gilbert to collect his disobedient little brother. Maybe Toris had followed the stains into the kitchen, and found Ludwig unconscious there. Toris knelt down in a fright, shaking Ludwig, and Ludwig, thinking it was Ivan in his daze, just huddled up, hid his face, and whispered, 'I'm sorry.'

Gilbert and Toris. What had they said? What had they thought? So hard to read them, to understand them, and couldn't ever imagine the humiliation Ludwig must have felt, when they sat him down and forced him to tell them the truth.

Ludwig had stayed silent, had tried hard, but couldn't keep up the act under the constant supervision of his hawkish brother. Gilbert had noticed oddities, and so here now they were, with a pending divorce and a bodyguard.

Ivan, having lost Ludwig to Gilbert, became unhinged and far more dangerous, falling apart and into insanity because men like _that_ just couldn't stand losing.

A sad story, but a common one.

Ludwig just changed it up.

Two different stories. Two different points of view. Two minds and hearts that would never see eye to eye.

Alfred and Ludwig saw things very differently, and Alfred made no effort to hide that at all. When Ludwig could face the truth and say it aloud, then Alfred would take him more seriously. Until then, Ludwig was just another weak-willed man in love, and Alfred would consider him lesser, weaker, vulnerable.

They stared at each other, unable to connect.

Felt as if Ludwig stood on the other end of some great chasm.

Ludwig's face was stoic again when he looked up at Alfred, and he leaned back in his chair, brow high and eyes lidded, as he said, quite coolly, "Did you know that almost all white cats with blue eyes are deaf?"

What the...

Nervous and taken off guard, Alfred scoffed, shakily, and could only offer, "Guess I do now."

Ludwig stared Alfred down, and carried on, "The gene that causes the white coat conflicts with the one that creates blue eyes. I always thought that was interesting. My father planned everything out so well, every last detail, and yet he couldn't control the gene he passed to Gilbert and I. Gilbert is unbreakable. Strong. Unafraid. He's everything I ever wanted to be, but I'm not. I tried, I did, but— Gilbert is able to look at someone and know instantly if he can control them or not, but I can't do that. However hard I try, I could never quite live up to him. So, I tried hard to keep charge of my own home life. I didn't want Gilbert to know that I was helpless to control Ivan. Power is everything to us, be it at work or home. Losing control of Ivan was unforgivable to Gilbert. I remember often that Gilbert is only half of me. I can never be like him. My genes...they're not quite the same. Not as strong. Perhaps my mother was weak. I wasn't an ideal mixture."

Ludwig was just rambling a bit by then, and Alfred let him because it wasn't as if Alfred had anything better to say at all.

Liked Ludwig's voice, too, kinda, and so let him speak unimpeded.

Another shift of Ludwig's voice, and he lowered his eyes to the table.

"I didn't care about any of that when I met Ivan. Whatever was weak in me didn't matter. Losing control of Ivan meant nothing to me, because, really, I never had control to begin with. I never have, my entire life. I just wanted him to _stay_. He's the only person that ever spoke to me as if I was good enough. Ivan didn't expect a thing from me, he said, except that I love him. I can't explain how that felt."

Ludwig fell still, and Alfred ran a tired hand through his hair.

Had he been braver, closer to Ludwig than he was, had he managed to befriend Ludwig just a little more, Alfred would have offered, 'I don't expect anything of you, either."

Inappropriate at the moment.

The clock ticked. The sun had set.

There was one thing left, then, that Alfred just didn't understand.

One more question.

Alfred finally asked, "I don't understand—if you really think something's wrong with him, if you really think it's not his fault, if you really love him so much still, then why are you even filing for divorce at all? I don't understand."

Really didn't.

Ludwig protected Ivan so much, loved him so much, shielded him from Gilbert so fervently, and so Alfred didn't understand how Ludwig had been convinced to ever file those papers.

Thought that maybe Ludwig's face darkened a bit, that he looked a little irritated, and Alfred thought for a moment that Ludwig was aggravated with _him_.

He wasn't.

When Ludwig spoke up, his voice was low and rumbling, dangerous, when he uttered, "It's not _my_ petition. Gilbert forced my hand. I'm nothing without him, nothing, so, essentially, Gilbert owns me. He can make me do whatever he wants, because he knows that without him I'm helpless. This is the first time he's ever used that against me like this. His mother disowned him, and he was very prepared to do the same with me, he said. That was my newest ultimatum : divorce, or being erased. That company is all I know. Losing it, losing my job, my position, my future, my stability, my income, everything— He gave me no choice, so I had to file the papers. He told me if I didn't, I'd be on the street. I have no one else, because Ivan was...gone. I didn't know what else to _do_."

Ludwig trailed off, and turned aside.

Alfred stared at Ludwig, had so many questions, so many things he wanted to ask, so many things he wanted to know, but in the end he only asked, perhaps insensitively, "If Gilbert can force you to do anything, then why didn't you press charges when it made him so mad that you didn't?"

Ludwig met Alfred's eyes, face set and jaw squared, and even then, even months later, Alfred could clearly see the defiance there on Ludwig's face.

"Because, for the first time in my life, I set my foot down and said 'no'. I disobeyed a direct order, and for it, Gilbert was furious. I thought... Gilbert has such a bad temper, and I honestly don't know what he's capable of when he's angry. I thought he was going to put me right back in the hospital, the way he looked at me. I really did, he was so angry. But Toris got in between us, and I just— I couldn't do it. I couldn't. Even if Gilbert had never forgiven me, I just couldn't have done it. The divorce was enough of a blow. I would go no farther."

What Ludwig said next seemed to settle the matter in his mind, and Alfred wasn't sure if Ludwig was saying it to Alfred or to an absent Gilbert :

"I'd rather be on the street than ever see Ivan in _prison_."

And that seemed to be that, to Ludwig.

But that wasn't that with Alfred, and Alfred felt as irritated as Ludwig looked. It was the boldest Alfred had yet been, as he abruptly reached across the table, took Ludwig's chin in his hand, not gently, forced his gaze, and asked, once and for all, "Why did Gilbert make you divorce him? Tell me. You keep lying for him. What did Gilbert see?"

Ludwig's wide eyes, beneath his low brow. Alfred could feel his pulse hammering.

Just wanted Ludwig to admit that Ivan had beaten him to within an inch of his life, just wanted him to finally fuckin' _say_ it and get it over with, wanted him to admit it so that maybe Ludwig could start letting go of this delusion he had.

But Ludwig didn't cave to Alfred, although his posture had certainly slumped at the aggressive grab. Submitting without submitting. Ready to accept Alfred's anger, but not yet ready to bend to Alfred's will.

A man who was used to being hit, but not used to speaking his feelings.

"Tell me," Alfred pressed. "What did Gilbert see, huh? If it's not Ivan's fault, then why won't you tell me?"

Ludwig held Alfred's gaze as long as he could, before he finally lowered his eyes, and muttered, stubbornly, "You wouldn't understand."

Alfred's brow twitched in a rush of anger, but he let Ludwig go all the same, and replied, "You're right. I wouldn't."

And that was all.

Ludwig stood up, gathered the dishes, and when he went for his pill, Alfred could see his hands shaking.

As usual, the night hadn't gone like Alfred had hoped.

The love Ludwig had for Ivan was terrifying, but at the same time...

Hell, it was kinda beautiful, entrancing to Alfred, because no one had ever loved _him_ like that, and maybe in some corner of his mind he drifted so strongly to Ludwig because he wanted a little bit of that strange sentiment. No one had ever loved Alfred like that, and Ludwig's fierce loyalty was drawing Alfred in like a moth.

That smile Ludwig had shown, for just a moment.

If Alfred could ever get it through Ludwig's thick skull that Ivan was the dragon and not the prince, then maybe one day Ludwig might have actually been able to smile at Alfred.

Wanted to know what that felt like, what being loved like that was like, because he had never experienced it.

Ludwig was the perfect storm for Alfred, someone he admired and pitied, someone he found attractive physically and vulnerable mentally, someone that could have actually needed Alfred's sorry ass, someone that was seeing Alfred, speaking to him, treating him like a person and not a dumb country simpleton. Ludwig didn't want Alfred there but at the same time had shown Alfred more care and decency than anyone else in his life, sad as it was.

Ludwig had fallen for Ivan so ardently because Ivan was the first person that had ever been nice to him. Alfred realized that he could have easily fallen into that same trap, because Ludwig _needed_ Alfred, even if he refused to admit it, and god, Alfred would have done anything to feel needed.

Maybe...

Ludwig went into his bedroom and shut the door and was gone, and Alfred sat there for a long while, and then shook his head and ambled over to the couch, collapsing down and burying his face in the cushion.

Felt a bit overwhelmed.

This job may have been a bit too much, because Ludwig was likeable. A bit _too_ likeable, in fact. Far too likeable. It was easy to see that Ludwig was someone that Alfred could have very easily come to care for, and in so many ways he already had.

In a way, that was terrifying.

That was rule number one, naturally :

Never fall in love.

Never get attached, never get emotional, never get invested, never get in over your head. Always keep an emotional shield between yourself and the client, as much as a physical one. Never get to know them.

Alfred had never broken it, and didn't plan on starting now. Really. He didn't. Daydreaming was nice, but it was only that. Alfred knew better.

Still...

Hours later, when he couldn't sleep, Alfred crept over to Ludwig's bedroom door, pushed it gently open, and peered inside, to make sure that Ludwig was safe and sound there in bed.

Leaned in the frame and stared at him for a long time, as Ludwig slept away, breathing deeply and evenly. Beside of him, the bed was empty. Someone used to sleep there.

Someone.

The damsel was still far up in the tower, awaiting the prince. The knight would come instead, because the prince had fallen into shadow.

Alfred stood there and watched Ludwig sleep.

Ludwig needed him, and that was what _Alfred_ needed.

Ludwig, pale in the moonlight.


	11. Saturated Shield

**Chapter 11**

**Saturated Shield**

Rule-breaking came naturally to Alfred, in hindsight, so maybe he should have been a little more cautious around Ludwig.

Alfred let his guard down around Ludwig, and steadily began to pay the price. Exactly like Toris had anticipated. Toris had set this up, had wanted this exact scenario, had said so himself, and Alfred had known that but had still walked right into the trap anyway.

Alfred started becoming emotionally invested in the job, and that was never a good thing.

The urge to protect Ludwig was stronger every day, but so was that little thrill whenever Ludwig acknowledged him. Someone that needed him; that was entirely irreplaceable.

Another weekend had passed, and Monday came back.

It hadn't been very long, no, but Alfred had settled in already, developed his routine, and maybe he was settling here so quickly because this was the first time this miserable damn job had ever made him feel like a good person.

That morning, before he could figure out his plans for the next few hours, Alfred received a call as Ludwig sat down and began his day.

It was Gilbert.

He glanced over at Ludwig, far too absorbed in his own world to care about Alfred's phone calls, and so Alfred heaved an annoyed sigh and answered.

Hated Gilbert.

"What's up?"

Not a very polite greeting, but Gilbert didn't expect one from a man like Alfred, nor did Gilbert offer them in turn.

All Gilbert said was, _"Come to my office. Now."_

He hung up, and Alfred's pulse quickened as adrenaline flowed.

Somehow...

Had wanted it relentlessly earlier, to be fired, yeah, but damn if the thought of Gilbert firing him right now wasn't scary. He needed the money, damn sure he did, but...

He glanced over again at Ludwig, stared and stared at him, didn't know why, before he finally tucked his phone away and said, softly, "I'll be right back."

Ludwig didn't even look up, gathering up his papers, and he merely said, "Very well."

Alfred didn't want to be fired now, because he wanted to keep Ludwig safe all of a sudden. Wanted to stay near him, wanted to keep an eye on him. Toris had wanted Alfred to get attached, and he had, the bastard, so surely Gilbert wouldn't axe him.

Couldn't get let go now, when Ludwig was so vulnerable.

He slunk out of Ludwig's office and into the hall, tracing his way to the elevator and up more floors and then down more halls, at last coming to that door where those guards always stood.

They raised their heads in acknowledgement, and the friendlier one asked, warmly, "How's Ludovico? Everything alright?"

The shorter one scrutinized Alfred relentlessly, and Alfred swore that he was leering.

The Friday altercation had been put behind them, apparently.

Too nervous then to speak, Alfred just nodded, and pushed through the door.

Gilbert wasn't in that first room, so Alfred traced Ludwig's invisible footsteps to that door on the left, behind which the glass office lied. He didn't knock, pushed right on it, and Gilbert was leaning against his desk, dressed as pristinely as always and stoic. He observed Alfred briefly, and Alfred was distracted from snowy Gilbert by a glint of light.

He turned his head, following the rainbow shards.

Ah...

Could see now what that black cloth had covered last time; a pane of glass. A viewpoint, down to the city street below. He hadn't realized exactly that Gilbert's office overhung the edge of the building, and the glass floor glinted in the sun.

Gilbert had covered it that day, because Ludwig had been coming. One small mercy, in a sea of abuse.

Gilbert saw his gaze, and walked slowly and purposefully over to the glass pane, standing atop it and looking down. His shined shoes reflected light as much as the glass, and Alfred wondered if Gilbert saw the people beneath him as just oblivious little ants.

Master of the universe.

Gilbert was silent for a while, as Alfred crept ever closer, and then he glanced up and asked, in a deep voice that came more out of his chest, "Afraid of heights?"

Instead of answering vocally, Alfred just came brazenly forward, stepped right atop the glass in front of Gilbert, stance wide and tensed up. He splayed out again to his full size, held his chin high, tucked his hands in his pockets, and tried to show to Gilbert in his body language alone that he wasn't going to submit to Gilbert so easily.

Alfred wasn't Ludwig, and wasn't going to let Gilbert dominate him.

Whew, though! A thrill, for sure, looking down and seeing the city below like that. Hair-raising, and he could only imagine the unholy meltdown Ludwig would have had atop this thing.

Gilbert stared at him for a long time, analyzing him, and then snorted and stepped away from the glass and back towards the center of the office.

Alfred followed, and finally spoke up, to say, "Good thing you covered it. Ludwig can't be very fond of that."

"No," Gilbert drawled, seemingly bored, as he fell once more to a halt. "He is not. When he was younger, I made him stand on it. I thought doing so would cure his fear of heights. It did not. It gave him panic attacks instead. Now, I threaten it more as a form of punishment. Keeps him in line. Disciplined."

A rush of heat to Alfred's face and neck, as anger surged.

Punishment for what?

Ha—being three minutes late, perhaps.

"You would," Alfred spat, and Gilbert's eyes snapped up to pin him down in a second. Could have utterly frozen over the ocean, that awful stare of Gilbert's, and Alfred felt the frost but refused to budge.

Couldn't, because if Gilbert sensed weakness there within him, Alfred would lose this job. Would lose Ludwig, and couldn't stand the thought of putting Ludwig into someone else's hands, someone who just wouldn't care about him, someone who wouldn't take it seriously, someone who may not have given it their all.

Gilbert stared Alfred down, and said, out of nowhere, "When I was a child, I was bitten by a dog. For a while after that, I was afraid of dogs. So my father found the most aggressive dog he could, on the street, tied it to a tree, and he made me stand in front of it every day. He said I was not supposed to be afraid of anything."

Alfred's damn overactive imagination started whirring away then, as usual, and he could just picture a very pale child, terrified and crying. Could see Gilbert's hard father, holding his son still by the back of his collar and dangling him before a snarling dog. Could see Gilbert jumping and crying out every time that dog lunged and snapped at him, right at his face, so close that Gilbert could no doubt feel his saliva and hot breath.

Days and weeks, until Gilbert finally became desensitized. Cold and hard, just like his phantom father, and after a while Gilbert just stood there before that dog on his own, and stared it down without fear.

Just like Gilbert was staring at Alfred now.

"I'm not afraid of anything," Gilbert said, so softly, never releasing Alfred from his frightening sights. "Nor should he be. I raised him to fear nothing, but I could not break him of that fear. He should not be afraid of anything. But he is. So I punish him for it."

Alfred grimaced, sneered, let Gilbert know with his face how unimpressed he was, but Gilbert naturally gave away nothing.

What a man, alright! Must have given Gilbert a rush, holding his little brother over a glass pane until he broke down and couldn't breathe. Yeah, what a great fuckin' guy, not as bad as he seemed at all. Gilbert sure did love Ludwig, sure did, Toris was totally right. Did Gilbert feel on top of the Earth when Ludwig was dangling over that void?

Assholes, all of these men, corrupt and power-hungry and immoral.

Alfred risked a little more, edged out a little more, and asked, softly, "Are you afraid of losing him?"

Him. Ludwig, who Gilbert had threatened to disown several times, and yet he never seemed to be able to follow through with the words. Ludwig, who, Toris claimed, Gilbert _loved_.

A long, steady stare.

No emotion upon Gilbert's face, and when he spoke, he simply repeated, "I am not afraid of anything."

Right.

Gilbert just looked Alfred up and down, and suddenly said, quite icily, "Report."

As if they were doing business, because, well, he supposed they actually were.

Without Ludwig there and knowing that Gilbert's patience was not to be tested, Alfred relented, and did as he was ordered. Because he didn't want to lose this job.

He cared about Ludwig.

"One incident, last Monday evening. After work. He found us on the street. He left quick enough when I pulled my gun. Haven't seen him since. No harm came."

Gilbert's brow crinkled, his lip curled, a look of absolute hate there on his face, and Alfred could see why Ludwig just didn't want to tell Gilbert anything. No one wanted to be looked at like that.

Gilbert peered at Alfred unwaveringly, and drolled, perhaps seriously, "You didn't shoot him?"

Alfred pursed his lips and stayed wisely silent, because that seemed like a trick question and Gilbert kinda scared him.

Not afraid of anything, huh?

"Has he made any phone calls? Stopped at any payphones?"

Alfred crinkled his brow, in confusion, and shook his head.

"Good. Keep it that way. Do not let him use your phone for anything. I monitor his phone records, so he has a little habit of using payphones to call that miserable bastard and warn him of my efforts to have him arrested. He has been banned from these premises, naturally, but Ludwig always seems to find a way to get him one step ahead of me."

Alfred shifted his weight, and wasn't sure who he was most annoyed with then.

Ludwig, the little idiot, _would_ do something so stupid. Protecting Ivan, as always, in whatever manner.

At Alfred's silence, Gilbert scoffed, and walked over to his desk, sitting down and turning his eyes to papers below.

A very cold, emotionless statement.

"I expect to know of these events immediately. You are to call me after every sighting, no matter where or when. And don't ever lie to me again. I'm in charge here, not Ludwig. You answer to me. What he says or wants doesn't matter. You do what I tell you. He doesn't know anything."

Like Ludwig was a dumb little kid.

Alfred was sneering by then, because Gilbert was the worst sort of man, and it took everything in him to keep his mouth shut and not tell Gilbert exactly what he thought about him.

What a jackass.

'What he says or wants doesn't matter.'

Yeah, that about summed it up, didn't it? The relationship between Gilbert and Ludwig was indeed just some battle, and Gilbert felt himself entirely in control.

Gilbert glanced up through his white lashes, face very stern, hard, and pressed, "Understood? Whatever he tells you, ignore him. He's a fool. He cannot see what's right in front of him."

Alfred knew that Gilbert expected immediate submission, and Alfred knew that he should give it to him, if only to keep his position and continue to protect Ludwig.

But, damn, that bastard made it so hard.

So Alfred risked it, and said, softly but firmly, "He's not a fool."

Actually, Ludwig was. Alfred had called him that a hundred times up in his head, but somehow hearing Gilbert say it with that look on his face was very upsetting.

As expected, Gilbert leapt up to his feet, and barked, "Don't talk back to me!"

Extremely high-strung, extremely volatile, and Alfred couldn't see at all any of that 'good man' that Ludwig and Toris hinted at. Must have been behind _very_ closed doors, certainly, because Alfred saw nothing there worth liking.

Gilbert reached down to the desk, wrenched open a drawer, and Alfred instinctively lowered his hand to grab his gun, because Gilbert was a little crazy.

But Gilbert didn't pull out his own weapon; he pulled out a folder and literally threw it across the desk and at Alfred's chest. Alfred jumped but wasn't fast enough, and the folder fell to the floor, its contents spilling out.

Papers and photos, and oh, those photos—

Never wanted to see them.

It was police reports, hospital reports, and he knew that because those godawful photos pooling over the floor were of Ludwig in the hospital, unconscious on that respirator. Had never seen such bruises, never, had never seen anything like that since then, Christ.

Gilbert's fury suddenly seemed justified as Alfred stared down at those horrific pictures.

Felt so sick, and Gilbert must have known what he was doing, if Toris did.

Gilbert stepped out from behind his desk, and before Alfred knew it Gilbert was actually circling him like a goddamn shark, hands clasped behind his back and eyes changing color from pale blue to crimson as varying shades of light hit them.

He walked right atop those pictures that lied yet on the floor, as Alfred raised his eyes and tried to cleanse his mind of the sight.

A low, gruff mutter.

"Not a fool, is he? What do you know? I raised him, not you. I will not be like you. I am not going to lose _mine_. My sibling will _not_ be like yours."

Son of a—!

Alfred made a motion, hissed air through his teeth, and honest to god he planned to punch Gilbert then, as furious as he was, and he jerked his fist back. Stopped short when he got caught under Gilbert's piercing eyes again, and maybe he choked then because the words hurt so damn much and he felt everything in him collapse. All of his confidence and ego shattered under Gilbert's accusations, because they were valid.

Couldn't punch the bastard, perhaps, because Gilbert was right. Alfred had lost, alright, everything.

The ghost chasing him.

Those photos.

He choked.

When Alfred froze up, Gilbert carried on circling him, and his voice was ever softer. Deadlier. Gilbert had the upper hand, and knew it well.

"I know all about you. You need this job. You are nothing. What is the word Americans use? Trailer trash? Is that it? White trash? Born in the trailer park with the dogs, weren't you?"

A rush of embarrassment, adrenaline, humiliation.

Alfred stood still, stared straight ahead, and refused to let Gilbert shake him, biting down his anger and hurt and guilt and trying to feel nothing.

Look unfazed, look confident, look strong.

He wasn't, but pretended anyway.

Gilbert kept circling him.

"I didn't choose you. Toris did. I don't care how good you are. Mouth off again and I'll fire you. You're replaceable. There are a hundred men just like you right down there on the street. I didn't hire you to _think_. I hired you to follow my stupid brother and protect him from anyone. Even himself. Keep your mouth shut and your eyes ahead. That is all. One wrong move and I'll send you back down south to that trailer where you belong. Head down."

Well, Alfred had been right about one thing; Gilbert certainly needed to be in control of everyone and everything.

Cheeks red and jaw clenched, hands in his pockets and adrenaline rushing, Alfred had no choice really but to concede. Needed this money, and Ludwig needed someone who wasn't like Ivan, who wasn't like Gilbert, who wasn't like Toris.

Ludwig seemed almost as alone and isolated in this cold world as Alfred was.

With that thought, Alfred bit down his pride and ego and gave a very stiff nod of his head.

For Ludwig, Alfred submitted.

Instantly, Gilbert spat, "Get out."

Alfred left, stalking quickly away from that prick, pushing through the door and going for the elevator so furiously and briskly that the guards jumped. Ignored them when they called to him from behind, punching the elevator button angrily and trying to calm himself down before he went back to Ludwig.

Trailer trash.

Yeah, guess so. All Gilbert had left out, really, was 'redneck'. Hillbilly.

Did he still have such a bad accent? He had worked damn hard to beat it out of himself. Had worked on it every day, had tried to focus on his pronunciation, on his sentence structure, on his grammar, because the second he had opened his mouth up north and started speaking with that heavy Appalachian twang, the looks he got were different. Judgment, just because of the way he spoke. People thought him dumber, simpler. Uneducated. His accent made him an outlier the farther away from home he trekked, and so Alfred had tried to leave it behind as much as everything else.

Here he was now in New York City, with much less accent, with new glasses, with new clothes, alone and with a different haircut, trying to be a completely different man. Pretending to be something he wasn't.

Gilbert's words stung, and shattered the illusion he had built in his head.

But then Alfred pushed open the door to Ludwig's office, and when Ludwig looked up and saw him coming, he sent Alfred a small, casual smile.

That was a first, the first time Ludwig hadn't seemed disappointed to see Alfred.

Ludwig was comfortable with him, had put some trust into Alfred by speaking with him, Ludwig hadn't once mocked Alfred for anything, and Ludwig didn't seem to care about where Alfred had really come from.

The anger dulled.

A terrible mixture of relief and horror rose up, because now he wasn't going to be able to look at Ludwig and not remember those terrible photographs, that horrendous sight of the aftermath, seeing everything all over and yet for the first time. Seeing both Ludwig and someone else.

A second chance that felt more frightening than hopeful.

Alfred tried to smile back at Ludwig, and settled down, because in the end Gilbert wasn't the entire reason he was here anymore.

Every day, Ludwig grew on him a little more.

He didn't leave then as he normally would have. Couldn't, after that. Wasn't sure if it was the photos or Gilbert that held him still there in the moment.

That awful mental image of Gilbert forcibly holding Ludwig above that glass, just like Gilbert's father had held him, one hand in his collar and the other in his hair. Forcing Ludwig to look down at the city, until the acrophobia had just been too much and the panic attack had started.

In Ludwig's story, he had met Ivan when he had been crying from Gilbert's 'punishment'—knew now what it was.

He wasn't leaving.

Ludwig glanced at him, seemed surprised, but didn't say a word.

Alfred sat in the corner, and watched Ludwig work, helping himself as usual to the coffee and refrigerator as Ludwig scribbled away. One day, Alfred would gather the nerve to actually walk over to the desk and look down at Ludwig's designs, even if he didn't understand a damn thing.

Ludwig no longer seemed tense and annoyed with Alfred's presence.

But Gilbert's words still lingered there above.

Could only push through, as always, and focus on Ludwig.

There was suddenly a light rap on Ludwig's office door, out of nowhere, and Alfred leapt upright and placed his hand on his gun, because Ludwig had looked up with a crinkled brow of confusion, clearly not expecting anyone.

But when the door pushed open, it was just one of those Italian guards. The taller, friendlier one. He poked his head in, smiled at Ludwig and called a greeting, and then he found Alfred, and asked, quietly, "Got a minute?"

Ludwig looked curious as Alfred nodded, and ducked out into the hall.

The guard studied Alfred, and then asked, "Had a rough time up there, huh?"

Alfred stayed silent. Too angry and embarrassed to even talk about it.

The guard rolled his eyes, and just said, "I'm Feliciano, by the way. The other guy is my brother. Lovino. Look. We've been here a long time. We know how it is. Here."

Feliciano or whatever held something out, and Alfred took it.

A paper, with two phone numbers, names scribbled helpfully beside them.

"If something happens," Feliciano murmured, discreetly, "and you need help or something, just call us. Something, maybe, that Gilbert doesn't need to know about, if you know what I mean. Ludovico doesn't need him screaming at him every five minutes. Call us, if you need a hand."

At last, Alfred spoke, to mutter, "Alright. Sure. Thanks."

The guard lifted his chin in acknowledgement and darted off, scurrying back to his post before Gilbert noticed he was missing. Alfred slunk back in, quietly, and Ludwig stared at him but never asked.

Alfred felt that he was steadily gaining a bit of foothold.

He was finding his way within this dark world, little lights guiding him along here and there, and now, with two extra sets of eyes and support, he felt a little more secure.

Ludwig, for it, was ever safer.

Alfred stayed in that office all day, in the event that Gilbert for some reason came calling, and Ludwig very frequently glanced up at Alfred. They each held the gaze, seemed to want to speak, but in the end fell silent and looked away.

One thing at a time.

That night, after dinner, Alfred stood up to help Ludwig with the dishes for once, just because, and Ludwig looked over at him incredulously as Alfred plunged his hands into the water.

Felt protective of Ludwig, and liked being near him.

He was as vulnerable as Ludwig in the end, though Alfred would have keeled over dead before he admitted that, and he was desperate for someone to just _like_ him.

Just wanted someone that wanted him.

Was that so much to ask?

And Ludwig needed someone, too, someone supportive, someone who didn't put any expectations upon him, someone who would care about him unconditionally, and because there was no one else Alfred felt he had no choice but to attempt to fill that role.

Wanted to just befriend the jerk once and for all be done with it. They needed each other, for now, and there was no point in not acknowledging it. No point in being cold and hostile to each other, no point in pushing each other away.

Ludwig looked Alfred up and down very intensely, scrutinizing him, and Alfred thrust his chest out and squared his shoulders, expanding as much as he could because he felt self-conscious under Ludwig's prying eye.

Couldn't tell what Ludwig was thinking at any given moment.

Could Ludwig see, too, that Alfred was born trailer trash?

A long silence, and then Ludwig held up a dish Alfred had scrubbed, and rumbled, "Don't quit your day job."

Alfred gaped over at Ludwig, huffed, and felt awed.

...had Ludwig just _teased_ him? Good god. That was a first.

Were they becoming comfortable at long last?

Feeling that there was a good atmosphere for once, Alfred looked Ludwig up and down in turn, leaned in a little, and shot back, "So you're saying you want me around forever?"

Ludwig's brows shot up, his lips twitched, and Ludwig quickly amended, "Certainly not! You misunderstood."

"I'm sure."

Alfred passed Ludwig dishes, and Ludwig eyed Alfred very drolly the entire while, appearing condescending and haughty and yet it was so clear that he was trying hard not to crack a smile.

The first time Alfred had felt that they were something close to just normal people.

Roommates.

Ludwig took his pill, went to sleep, Alfred stayed on the couch, and in the morning, something new happened; Ludwig was making breakfast. Hadn't done that before, making only coffee and then sustaining himself on the food in the office.

Alfred thought that Ludwig was glancing back at him very frequently, and it did occur to Alfred that Ludwig was making breakfast because he was warming up to Alfred. Trying to find a new routine. A new path.

Finding a source of comfort, perhaps.

As much as a bodyguard should never get attached to a client, the vice versa was very true as well, because things could get real awkward real quick.

This, though?

Alfred was alright with this.

He came into the kitchen, and dared himself to come up to Ludwig and peer over his shoulder. He moved too quickly though, and startled Ludwig. Ludwig jumped, flinched, braced up, and Alfred felt shitty about that but Ludwig recovered quickly.

To keep the mood light, Alfred asked, "For me? You shouldn't have! Didn't think I'd be getting all these extra benefits."

Benefits, alright.

Alfred's eyes once more flitted over Ludwig's legs.

Ludwig merely snorted and drawled, very coolly, "Well. It seems that the best way to your heart is through your stomach."

Alfred barked a laugh at the jab, and would absolutely take breakfast over Ludwig dragging him all over the city for a murderous jog.

So Alfred replied, "I knew you wanted me to stay around forever."

That time, Ludwig just rolled his eyes, but his face was relaxed.

For just a moment there, as they had breakfast over the rising sun, Alfred thought that Ludwig looked a little happy.

Deserved that.

Alfred's shield was starting to crack, splinter, and before long it would shatter entirely, because he wasn't giving true effort to keep it together. Ludwig was drawing him in, no doubt, and everyone around only helped it along by pushing Alfred closer to Ludwig. Don't get attached, after all, was so much easier said than done.

Toris and Gilbert were using Alfred, and Alfred had no choice but to accept it and rise to the challenge, because his second chance lied right here now in his hands. Wouldn't let it slip.

Redemption.

Alfred had wandered for years and years, lost and alone, and had never found a reason to linger in one place for too long. Had never found anything worthwhile, anything he wanted, anything that called to him.

Until now.

Alfred came running and skidding at Ludwig's call without a second thought.

Ivan was gone. Ludwig was alone.

Who was to say that this wasn't exactly where Alfred was meant to be?


	12. Dance With Night Wind

**Chapter 12**

**Dance With Night Wind**

The weekly cleaning at Gilbert's came and went. Days passed. Another week faded, and one more began.

With each of them, Ludwig looked over at Alfred more and more, spoke to him more, and Alfred was ever gaining confidence. He thrived off of people liking him, needing him, wanting him around, and the more comfortable Ludwig grew with Alfred the bolder Alfred felt.

Alfred hadn't agreed with Ludwig, hadn't seen things the way he did, but Alfred had sat there and listened to Ludwig all the same, and maybe that was all Ludwig had wanted. Just someone to _listen_ to him. Ludwig seemed to have developed a great deal of trust in Alfred, just because Alfred had sat down with him and let him talk.

People like Ludwig, locked up their whole life, mentally and emotionally, considered something as simple as talking so remarkable.

Ludwig warmed up, and began to relax around Alfred.

It came to Alfred's attention in very small details. Just little things, but they seemed quite profound.

Ludwig no longer walked as quickly as he could in order to leave Alfred behind, and started walking side by side with him instead, like equals.

At home, the way Ludwig spoke to him was steadily changing. Ludwig stopped using very formal speech, stopped using impressive language, loosened up, and started speaking to Alfred with more casual expressions. Used a little slang from time to time, and stopped using perfect grammar. The way friends spoke to each other, and Alfred was very keen on that because it made him feel less out of place. Made Ludwig feel less intimidating, less out of reach, less out of his league, when he didn't have to pull out his damn phone and look up a word Ludwig had tossed out.

Alfred started thinking of Ludwig as a friend, because Ludwig looked at him that way now.

Their uneasy alliance became comfortable.

Ludwig made breakfast every morning now, looked at Alfred over the table as they made small talk, and it wasn't lost on Alfred that Ludwig seemed to be perking up just a little. Didn't look so down all the time, so unraveled. Ludwig was combing his hair and shaving every day, rather than just half-assing for special board meetings. Still sad and melancholy at the first light of dawn, yeah, but when Alfred grabbed a coffee and sat down, Ludwig straightened up and brightened just a bit.

Hopeful.

God knew poor Ludwig really needed a friend, and Alfred was so far out of the world that Ludwig was used to that maybe Alfred was in some sense as irresistible to him as he was to Alfred.

Even the most stoic, frosty, strict men needed affection, the normal interactions of another human being, and Ludwig was starting to give in to that overwhelming need. Human nature, really, and Ludwig was no exception.

Ludwig didn't want to be alone.

They began interacting quite casually, and one Thursday, when Alfred came by to collect Ludwig for the evening, Ludwig glanced up from his desk, looked Alfred up and down, and then murmured, "Did you have a fun day? It must be nice, to have your level of freedom."

Alfred snorted, walked slowly and arrogantly to Ludwig's desk, and lowered his voice to equal levels to reply, "Careful. It almost sounds like you're jealous. I'm gonna get the wrong idea. Think you want me in here all day, every day with you."

Ludwig scoffed, and gathered up his things.

"Hardly! You seem to only hear what you want to hear."

Yeah, that summarized Alfred pretty well, to be fair. Would let Ludwig have that one.

When Ludwig clicked his briefcase closed, Alfred suddenly had an impulse, and as he always did he acted upon it.

He stepped to the side, took Ludwig's coat from the rack, and held it open expectantly. May have been a little presumptuous on his part, this act of chivalry, but Alfred jumped first and looked after. Ludwig stared at him, lips ever so slightly parted and brow high, and he seemed quite confused, quite taken aback, quite astonished.

Alfred stood there, and lifted the coat a little in the air to spur Ludwig on.

Sure did like the way the damn thing smelled.

Ludwig finally lifted his chin, gathered his nerve, and took a step forward, coming over. Alfred braced up, but Ludwig didn't snatch the coat from his hands, and rather cooperatively set his briefcase down and stepped into the coat as Alfred held it aloft.

Alfred wouldn't lie and say that he hadn't leaned forward, just a little, just to be close enough to catch a whiff of Ludwig's hair.

A thrill.

Ludwig buttoned up his coat, grabbed the briefcase, turned on his heel, and because Ludwig was suppressing a smile Alfred bolted forward and held open the office door for him, too. Why the hell not? Needed to do something to take Ludwig's mind off of things, and this also helped Alfred's ego along.

Ludwig paused, stared over at Alfred as held the door, analyzed him a little, and then said, "My, my. I suppose there is a little bit of a civilized human being somewhere in there."

Alfred lifted his chin pompously, smirking away, brow high and eyes lidded, and was certainly appearing extremely self-confident by then. Ludwig rolled his eyes for the tenth time that week, heaved a sigh, and plunged through the door.

Alfred trotted behind him, and as they marched through the cold, dreary street, the grey sky above opened up. The first snowfall of the year, light and soft.

Ludwig glanced up at the horizon, seemed pleased at the sight of the snow, and Alfred was pleased at the sight of Ludwig, as snow collected in his already pale lashes and hair.

Nice to see Ludwig without that awful shadow on his face.

When they made it home, Alfred kept up the act and held Ludwig's front door open for him, but forgot to take Ludwig's coat as soon as they came inside. Ludwig gave Alfred another look-over, face very condescending yet again, and Alfred realized his mistake when Ludwig took his own coat off and drawled, "That's five points taken away for failing to finish what you started."

Damn, could Ludwig ever sound like Gilbert when he wanted to.

Without thinking too much, Alfred replied, "Don't worry. I got plenty of time to rack up more points. What's my prize?"

Ludwig gave a deep 'Hm!' of thought, and merely offered, "I suppose I'll have to really think _that_ one over."

Alfred came up, a little too close, and said, far too boldly, "I have a few ideas."

Ludwig's already pink cheeks blazed quite red suddenly, and he was very quick to squirm away and into the kitchen. Alfred followed him with his eyes, but didn't trail behind him, letting Ludwig breathe.

But his efforts were not completely in vain, because Ludwig didn't immediately take his sleeping pill right after dinner, and instead slunk into the living room and sat down on the couch. From the way he kept looking up and over at Alfred, it was very clear that Ludwig wanted to keep the company going for a while.

Alfred happily obliged, sitting on the other end of the sofa as he often did, keeping that neat gap between them. Ludwig twisted a little at the waist, turned his attention to Alfred, and Alfred made sure to splay and ooze out as much as he could, to take up as much room as he could, in an effort to keep Ludwig's eyes upon him.

And then suddenly, Ludwig tried to turn the tables a bit, and began interrogating Alfred, after countless nights of Alfred prying every drop of information possible out of Ludwig.

Ludwig just looked over, and randomly asked, "So, Alfred. Where are you from? Not New York."

Gilbert's words rang back up instantly, and Alfred shifted his weight a little, uneasily. Cast it aside as best he could, because he couldn't let Ludwig see any bit of uncertainty within him. Alfred threw his arm up on the couch, splayed out in false confidence, and finally answered, "Kitty Hawk. It's—"

"In North Carolina. I know." Ludwig gave Alfred a long look over, and then snorted. "The birthplace of flight! How fitting you would end up here. Perhaps it was meant to be."

Alfred waved his hand in the air, playfully, heart hammering, and tossed back, "Oh, yeah! I was born there and then one day, just like that, I got this feeling that somewhere up north some weird aeronautical engineer had a real fear of heights and needed me, so I packed up and started walking. Here I am! You've waited for me your entire life. Took a long time, but whew! I'm worth the wait!"

Absurd. Ridiculous. The dumbest damn thing to ever come out of his mouth.

But Ludwig laughed.

A beautiful sound, it really was, deep and warm, so unlike cold and aloof Ludwig. It was strange in some way that Ludwig could laugh at all, and Alfred hoped that, just like Ivan before him, he was melting Ludwig and getting ever closer.

Ludwig looked over at Alfred, shook his head, and said, "Your ego is as broad as your shoulders. I'm surprised we haven't discovered your head in space yet."

Alfred scoffed, rolled his 'broad' shoulders back arrogantly, and crossed one leg over the other in a fit of what was indeed ego.

False ego, sure, false bravado, but that was all Alfred knew.

Overcompensation.

He tossed back to Ludwig, "Shame, that! It would be the best discovery ya ever made."

Ludwig laughed again, and Alfred was entranced.

Ludwig didn't ask anything else about Alfred's origins, as Alfred teased him a little and redirected the conversation. He distracted Ludwig very effectively, and was damn grateful for that. If Ludwig hadn't wanted to talk about his domestic life at first, then there were no words for how desperately Alfred never wanted the story of his own life to be uttered aloud.

Ludwig didn't need to know. He had enough problems. Didn't need Alfred's story piled there in his mind as well.

Alfred wanted to scoot over and close that gap on the couch, but didn't gather the nerve that night.

Friday came and went. No incidents.

Gilbert texted him that day for a report, and Alfred was glad to have nothing for him.

Ludwig stayed up later than normal again that night, as they sat on the couch and chatted about this and that, nothing and everything.

That Saturday, Alfred rolled off of the couch and waited for the miserable jog. But Ludwig stood there, dressed in his sweater, and stared at Alfred strangely.

Alfred found himself splaying a little as usual, puffing out, trying in all moments as he was to appear masculine and dominant. Strong, capable. Someone to be relied upon. Even when he had just rolled right out of bed and looked a hot mess.

Ludwig looked him up and down, and then uttered, very randomly, "I was hoping... There's a show I wanted to see at the theatre tonight."

Ludwig's voice was husky with sleep and deeper than normal, an extremely low-pitched, thunderous rumble that Alfred was quite instantly smitten with. Damn—! Hoped that was what Ludwig would sound like if Alfred could ever get him to cuddle up and whisper in his ear.

Because Alfred was inappropriately interested in Ludwig, he immediately answered, "You wanna see a show tonight? I'll go with you, if you want. If you don't go on a jog today."

Ludwig snorted a little, but was smiling all the same.

Pretty.

Not a beam by any means. Just a soft, calm smile, but it seemed as beautiful to Alfred in that moment.

Strange, that someone so icy could have such a pretty smile.

It was snowing again that morning, and it kept on a bit through the day, picking up and then dying down. Ludwig stood in the living room, bundled up, and watched it falling from behind the safety of the window. Seemed to have an affinity for snow, Ludwig, which Alfred supposed shouldn't have been shocking. Gilbert and Ludwig were just winter, after all, and hell, Gilbert looked like an extension of the snow. Ludwig wasn't far behind. They must have felt most comfortable in winter, frosty bastards.

Ludwig seemed content, relaxed, and Alfred was glad for it.

Must have been the first time in years upon years that Ludwig had been able to go out and do something normal with someone who wasn't always breathing down his neck.

Alfred waited impatiently, jittery and very much looking forward to being alone with Ludwig in a dark theatre. What could he say? Alfred was kind of a creep, just a man after all.

That sentiment was heightened a bit later on in the evening when Ludwig went to change, and came out a long while later all cleaned up.

Ludwig wasn't as glamorous as Gilbert by any means, but he certainly dressed up to go to the theatre, and the suit he wore when he came out of the bedroom was certainly as lustrous as anything Gilbert had ever donned. Alfred's annual salary probably couldn't afford that damn suit. Excessive, sure, but damn if Ludwig didn't look good in it. He had washed his face, combed his hair back, shaved. Looked a little more alert, a little perked up. Not so sad. The circles under his eyes were just a little less obvious. Wore a nice watch that time, rivaling Gilbert's, and Alfred didn't bother asking about it because he didn't want to hear Ludwig say that it had been another 'gift' from Ivan.

Under that lovely suit, no doubt Ivan's ring was tucked safely away. Always around Ludwig's neck, as much as Ivan's hands ever had been. Ugh; bad thought. He cast it quickly aside, and focused on this gleaming Ludwig.

Ludwig certainly took a theatre trip seriously. Had never seen someone so rundown shine up so furiously.

As usual, Alfred's eyes were drawn to where they always were, right down to Ludwig's long legs, accentuated by the shade and cut of the suit.

Well, damn!

Alfred could certainly see why Ivan had been so eager to put a ring on it.

Ludwig shifted a little under Alfred's gaze, and he tried to be a bit less intense, swaggering forward and clapping Ludwig's arm.

"All that effort for me?" Alfred teased, and Ludwig's pale face once more burned red.

So easy to embarrass Ludwig.

It was kinda adorable, and that was a strange word to attach to a man like Ludwig, but there it was. When Ludwig blushed and squirmed, he was _adorable_ , and there was nothing for it. Alfred loved it, and tried not to think too much about Ivan making Ludwig blush. Hard not to compare himself constantly to a man that had successfully seduced this arctic fox, and Alfred's latent insecurity always brought those thoughts to the forefront.

Alfred was excited, pumped up, at least until Alfred suddenly realized that he would be walking into the theatre next to this goddamn rocket scientist while wearing his shitty coat and blue jeans.

Ludwig seemed to be thinking the same thing, and suddenly said, softly, "If you'd like... It doesn't matter, really, but if you'd like, you could wear one of Ivan's suits. The fit won't be too great."

Alfred grimaced, and quickly said, as casually as possible, "No thanks."

Ludwig nodded, and they set out.

Alfred was always self-conscious, and what he was wearing wouldn't change that. Woulda been a hell of a lot worse, though, trying to wear one of Ivan's suits, only to feel insecure about the ill fit and knowing that Ivan was bigger than he was.

Stupid.

Because he was nervous, Alfred did dart forward, at the last second, and once more hold Ludwig's coat out for him, because a dressed-up Ludwig kind of intimidated him.

Ludwig, as always, humored him, and soon they were on the subway.

Ludwig's polished shoes looked strange amongst the dirty train car.

The lights of the city were just as bright, however, when they stepped out back into the freezing air. The snow had slackened off for now, leaving a terrible, wet slush on the sidewalk. Ludwig walked through it without second thought, and Alfred followed behind blindly.

Next thing he knew, he was inside of a theatre, amongst men and women who were as equally dressed up as Ludwig. Had never seen so much jewelry in his life. Women in full-blown ball gowns, Jesus pleasus, diamonds and gold glinting everywhere.

Alfred tried to focus on Ludwig, and not panic.

Ludwig didn't seem to mind that Alfred was very clearly out of place, and sat next to him with absolutely no hesitations and no second-glances.

"So!" Alfred finally asked, when they were settled in. "What are we seeing?"

"Swan Lake."

Alfred balked.

"What? A ballet? This isn't what I had in mind, exactly."

To be fair, he probably should have expected classy Ludwig to go for a ballet or an opera. Way above Alfred's head, this kinda stuff, and he knew he going to be clueless. But he was happy to be here all the same, because Ludwig was beside of him and looked alert.

Kinda melancholy, though, out of nowhere, as his eyes ran over the stage.

A moment later, Ludwig murmured, deeply, "This is Ivan's favorite. A Russian ballet, set in Germany. He said...it seemed made for us. He said—"

Ludwig trailed off, abruptly, and didn't finish whatever he had in mind.

Alfred bit down his bitter scoff, and stayed silent.

One day, Ludwig would eventually forget about Ivan.

Hm—Alfred did wonder, briefly, if maybe Ludwig was attempting to use Alfred as a surrogate for Ivan, after having him briefly offer the use of Ivan's suits. Yeesh. Next thing he knew, Ludwig would probably offer him Ivan's cologne and shaving cream.

Not good for the old ego.

The lights suddenly dropped, the theatre went dark, and Alfred cast it aside, because, throughout his entire life, he had always taken what he could get. This was no different.

Smelling Ludwig there beside of him was nice, even if the ballet was...

Well. Something, alright.

It was above Alfred, alright, ballet, didn't really feel like his scene, but it was pretty to look at, the music was nice, and the best part of it all was when Ludwig would lean over to explain something to Alfred and their shoulders would press together. The feel of Ludwig's breath on his ear.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

That indescribable sensation of being close to someone that you were becoming romantically invested in. Nothing like it. That little squirm of nervousness, exhilaration, the warmth and above all else the happiness.

Wasn't used to feeling happy, and it was addictive.

When the show ended and the applause started, though, when everyone was on their feet, Alfred happened to glance over and see that Ludwig wasn't clapping. Just stared at the stage, and even in the dark Alfred could see the water in his eyes. He turned back ahead, and pretended he didn't see, his own clapping slowing down and stopping altogether as he lost the heart for it.

A disheartening moment, as they stood motionless amongst the raucous crowd.

The lights came up, and Alfred dared a quick glance, but Ludwig had very perfectly composed himself.

When Ludwig turned to meet Alfred's eyes, he said, casually, "Thanks for coming. I trust you learned something."

Alfred straightened up his collar, smirking away, and anyone that had looked at Alfred then, legs spread and shoulders high, would never have been able to tell how mercilessly insecure he was at being in this room full of rich people.

"Learn something?" Alfred teased back. "I could teach the class! Get _me_ up there next time."

A flash of shock on Ludwig's face, before he dissolved into laughter.

Ludwig's laugh was as nice as his voice, and Alfred tried hard to stay stoic but laughed a little, too. If only at the thought of himself up there in some goddamn tights, trying to jump around gracefully only to look more like a dying fish.

Ludwig no doubt was imagining the same.

Alfred's pride was well worth Ludwig laughing, and when they were back out in the streets, it was snowing again. As usual, Ludwig lifted his eyes up, watching the snow falling against the lights of the city, and seemed content.

When Ludwig was happy, calm, tranquil, he was alarmingly handsome.

A rush of affection, powerful and potent, burning, and Alfred very stupidly turned to look at Ludwig, extended his arm, and asked, brightly, "Shall I escort you home?"

Stupid.

But, years and years ago, a lifetime past, Alfred had held his arm out like that to her, when they had been children and searching for escape, and that was the only thing that ever really made her smile. When she clung to his arm, pretending they were somewhere else, different people, that was the only time she had ever looked happy.

Just wanted Ludwig to smile, too. A real smile, that pretty one that had only been shown in that photo. That bright, beaming one. Wanted Ludwig to smile at him as he smiled at Ivan.

And Ludwig did smile. Not that beam yet, not yet, but wider than any smile Alfred had yet seen, and maybe it was because Ludwig was in such a rare good mood that he snorted and took the offered arm.

They were really just dumb kids in that moment, arm in arm in the snow, and Ludwig looked over at Alfred and said, quite cattily, "You really take your job seriously, don't you?"

This one? Hell yeah.

Ludwig just didn't know yet _why_.

To make that slightly more obvious, to put himself out there a little, however inappropriate and untimely and selfish it may have been, Alfred leaned in far too close to Ludwig and said, "Of course. I'm still trying to win those points for those extra 'benefits'."

Ludwig's face wasn't red then because of the cold.

Before Ludwig could panic, Alfred added, far more casually, "You missed your calling, you know? _You_ should be up there jumping around, with those stilts."

Ludwig snorted again, and loosened up.

It seemed that everything was going alright, that everything was on course. Ludwig was cheering up, slowly but surely, was warming so much to Alfred, they had become friends in a sense by then, for sure, comfortable and casual, and Alfred felt that the incline with Ludwig had become level ground.

But then there was a snag.

As usual.

Ludwig fell still, very abruptly and randomly, dragging Alfred to a halt, and Alfred glanced over to see Ludwig's eyes glued to the opposite side of the street, seemingly down an alley.

Stared and stared and stared, and Alfred felt the thrill of danger, the rush of adrenaline, because the hairs on the back of Ludwig's neck were standing outright and he was breathing through his mouth. Hadn't seen his eyes that wide, ever, as he stared into that dark void.

What did he see?

Beneath Ludwig's jaw, Alfred could see his pulse hammering. His pupils dilated, his nostrils flared, he was bristled in every possible way, and Alfred was looking at a very prime example of 'fight or flight' right then.

Alfred followed Ludwig's gaze, hand resting on his gun, but he didn't see anything. No matter how hard he looked, how long he stared, how he visually dissected that street and alley, he couldn't see anything. He didn't know if Ludwig was seeing things or if there was something Alfred was just missing, and so he kept his hand on his gun, just in case.

Ludwig seemed petrified, and had indeed frozen utterly still.

Staring away.

Maybe Ludwig, so frazzled under it all and not in a great place mentally, had caught a glimpse of something familiar and was now having a rush of panic for no reason. One of those random bouts of fear that sometimes came up, terrifying and hair-raising, yeah, but in the end pointless because nothing at all was there. When you swore there was someone in the backseat of your car at night, or something in the dark closet.

Just a case of nerves.

Ludwig moved then, at last, but only to very carefully and pointedly remove his arm from within Alfred's. Slowly. Purposefully. Could see Ludwig swallowing.

Alfred was anxious by then, too, because Ludwig's pale eyes hadn't once lifted from that alleyway, even as snow collected in his lashes and melted. Swore he hadn't even blinked.

Alfred reached out, rested his hand on the back of Ludwig's arm, and forcibly pushed him along, breaking Ludwig's trance, heart pounding and feeling nervous.

Ivan, perhaps? Lurking in shadows. Maybe Ivan was hidden there, staring out from the dark, following Ludwig as he seemed to.

...seeing Ludwig with his arm in Alfred's. Great.

Really didn't need to fuel that crazy man any more by adding jealousy into the mix, didn't need to give Ivan any ideas, didn't need Ivan to have another reason to harm Ludwig, thinking that Ludwig was having some kind of sordid affair with his bodyguard.

Not that it woulda been that sordid, in all fairness, because Ivan had already been kicked out.

Ivan had no more control over Ludwig.

Ludwig may not have yet known that, as little as Ivan did, because his good mood was demolished and he looked quite terrorized by the time they made it to the subway. Nothing unusual in this city, naturally, so no one cast panicked Ludwig a second glance.

Ludwig was breathing through his mouth even then, in that train car, looking around endlessly, aimlessly, foot tapping and pupils still consuming his irises, and Alfred could only watch him and keep guard.

Hated losing those little bits of comfort.

Ludwig never seemed to catch a break.

As soon as they were back home, jittery Ludwig ran straight to the cabinet and put back a sleeping pill. Alfred watched him as always, and wished that he had something comforting to say, anything at all, as Ludwig went for another bottle of wine.

Ludwig was going to end up killing himself if he kept doing this. Just took one instance of bad luck for him to stop breathing in the middle of the night. Alfred didn't have the heart to stop him, when it was obvious that Ludwig's hands were shaking and he looked so upset. Distraught.

Alfred liked more to think it was just terror, fear, at seeing Ivan there in the crowd and dark, but...

Somehow, Alfred felt that Ludwig was very upset because Ivan would get it into his head that Alfred and Ludwig were intimate, and maybe Ivan in a jealous rage would suddenly stop appearing altogether, ghosting Ludwig forever.

Ludwig didn't want to be without Ivan.

Ludwig missed Ivan, and for that was distraught.

Alfred just needed to show Ludwig that _he_ could do everything Ivan had, and without the brutal downside. Didn't need to miss Ivan anymore, when there was someone else standing there right beside of him who would give him the same level of affection.

The only problem seemed to be in getting Ludwig to let go of this dream-Ivan that he so stubbornly clung to. That man was gone, and Alfred just couldn't figure out how to make Ludwig realize it at last. Alfred was thinking more and more about Ludwig every day, always had Ludwig on his mind, thought relentlessly about him at night until he fell asleep, and yet Ludwig was still so enamored with Ivan.

How did he even go about attempting to surmount such a love as that?

Seemed daunting, impossible, but Alfred was nothing if not determined.

He didn't quit, ever, and wouldn't start now.

Toris and Gilbert shoved Alfred towards Ludwig, emotionally manipulated Alfred for their own benefit, brought up the worst sentiments in Alfred in order to harness him and use him to keep Ludwig safe.

And Alfred was alright with that now, he was, because he cared about Ludwig.

Gilbert and Toris didn't need to try anymore, didn't need to threaten him or bring up his past, because Alfred had already gotten in over his head.

Would protect Ludwig from Ivan, whatever the cost, and he would have done so then even if Gilbert fired him that minute. Would have followed Ludwig and kept him safe, without the paycheck, because they had harnessed Alfred, alright, and damn well.

Ludwig was his second chance to do something right, yeah, but there was more to it than just that. Here was a chance to actually pin down something he had always wanted. A chance to make someone _see_ him, and for them to like what they saw. A chance for Alfred to finally be worthwhile to someone. A chance for him to settle down and stay in one place.

To wake up and have someone smile at him.

Ludwig wasn't just a job anymore.

Like Ludwig, all Alfred wanted was to be loved.


	13. Snow Flower

**Chapter 13**

**Snow Flower**

November.

Ludwig's defenses fell, the thorns around the tower withered, and Alfred could finally see the window at which Ludwig sat. Could see him in the light from behind, and Alfred was fairly certain that Ludwig had noticed Alfred there in turn.

Wasn't coming down from the tower, no, but was peering out.

Alfred could only try to desperately get Ludwig's attention.

Ludwig was waiting eternally for the prince, and so Alfred tried to show him that the knight could be just as good, really, if Ludwig would give him a chance. If Ludwig would just put Ivan out of his mind for a day, one day, he would see that Alfred could be everything he needed.

Alfred tried to distract Ludwig from Ivan in the only way he knew how :

By being loud, chatty, boisterous, friendly, charming, and constantly in motion.

If Alfred were loud and bright and shiny enough, Ludwig would eventually just forget about Ivan, would steadily lose that love, would let it go at long last, and it would be better for him.

Alfred's affection for Ludwig had long since gone past just friendship and protectiveness.

Had Gilbert axed him any day then, had it all been over, had Ivan finally signed those damn papers and let go, Alfred would have stayed. Wanted to stay, didn't want to leave. Wanted to stay with Ludwig, because Ludwig was the only good thing he had in his life. Nowhere else to go, and no one waiting.

Ludwig needed Alfred.

Ludwig was always nervous outside the door, because the threat of Ivan was perpetual, constant, and worst of all invisible. Ivan hung back in shadows, lurked, stayed silent and watched from afar, lying in wait. The worst kind of threat was one you couldn't see, one that was irrational and impulsive and highly unpredictable.

Alfred didn't know when Ivan was coming, where or why, would he would do, and that was the worst.

Ludwig was antsy, anxious, uneasy, and so Alfred did his best to distract Ludwig from that when they were outside. Tried to get Ludwig to focus on him instead of the possibility of Ivan. Tried to draw Ludwig's eyes and keep them there, to soothe his nerves, to give him any little kind of reprieve from his constant fretting.

Ludwig's life was one endless circle of stress, and Alfred just wanted to help take away some of the pressure.

Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn't.

But Alfred tried, and Ludwig knew it.

These days, good moods from Ludwig at home were the norm, and not the exception. Ludwig was lighting up, burning ever more brightly, and in doing so he was dragging Alfred in like the pitiful moth he was.

Alfred had grown up in a very different environment than Ludwig had, had different ways of going about things, and where Alfred was from things were quite unalike. The South was a world apart from New York City, it was, and Alfred may have been out of place, but it was hard to entirely let go of the habits that were instilled from a young age.

Ludwig, for his part, was taking Alfred in good stride, and had gotten used to him opening doors by then. On Tuesday, when Ludwig went to his car, Alfred made sure to run up and open the car door, too, and then once more when they arrived at Gilbert's house.

Was he pitiful? He wasn't pitiful, surely, he was just polite, was all. Back home, men opened doors still and took charge for the most part, and Alfred had always known he was expected to perform those duties.

Anyway, Ludwig smiled.

When Ludwig grew accustomed to the door-opening and coat-holding, Alfred stepped his game up ever more.

If Ludwig was the damsel, Alfred was trying _very_ hard to fulfill his role as knight.

In the kitchen, Alfred was suddenly pulling the chair out for Ludwig during meals. When Ludwig made to stand, Alfred was quick to extend his hand helpfully. When walking in the city, Alfred kept Ludwig away from the street. On the subway, Alfred pressed Ludwig back into any available corner and stood protectively in front of him.

Ludwig just always looked over at him with a high brow, clearly a bit exasperated. Alfred was very aware that his 'damsel' might one day end up shanking him if he kept it up, but, eh, nothing for it. He was who he was, and all Ludwig could do was put up with him.

Around the house, Alfred took over the roles that a husband would have, since, well—Ludwig was the housewife, after all. If Ludwig was going to cook and clean and patch up his brother's clothes, then he was certainly the domestic half, and Alfred needed to do his part in this strange little relationship they had.

He fixed things when they broke, he took the trash out, he made sure everything was safe and secure. He checked the windows and doors at night. He carried the grocery bags inside.

And the light bulbs!

Dear god, the light bulbs.

When Alfred came out of the shower one Sunday morning, it was to see Ludwig standing atop a small ladder in the kitchen, very obviously unscrewing a dead light bulb, and it was silly, but Alfred felt a jolt of adrenaline all the same. Ludwig was clearly nervous as hell up there, swaying a little precariously, and Alfred didn't know why the hell Ludwig hadn't waited for him to get out of the shower and then asked him to change the light bulb.

Ludwig, with his deathly fear of heights, probably shouldn't have been up on that ladder.

Stubborn, as always. Ludwig didn't seem to realize that Alfred wanted Ludwig to come crying to him about every little thing, because Alfred's ego had nothing else to feed off of. Or Ludwig knew, more likely, and just didn't care.

Ludwig was swallowing, tottering, uncomfortable and no doubt feeling a little dizzy, and because Alfred liked Ludwig's neck a lot better when it was unbroken, he rushed forward. A bit of a sneak attack, as he grabbed Ludwig around the waist from behind, despite the fact that he had yet to put a shirt on and his hair was dripping a little.

At the touch, at the movement, Ludwig actually cried out, no doubt thinking he was falling. An actual vocal noise of distress, nearly a shriek, and Alfred was just as surprised to hear stoic Ludwig make that sound as much as he had been to hear him laugh the first time.

Hoped that noise, however, was not one he would become accustomed to.

It was shocking that Ludwig hadn't dropped the new bulb he was clenching in his right hand, and Alfred held Ludwig very steady there atop the ladder, as Ludwig looked down at Alfred from over his shoulder.

Looked terrified, poor thing, and opened his mouth to immediately lay into Alfred.

Alfred denied him the chance and said, cheerily, "How many aeronautical engineers does it take to change a light bulb?"

At this rate, about three.

A hiss of annoyance from Ludwig, who primly ignored him and very quickly finished screwing in the new bulb. Alfred might have held Ludwig aloft for a bit longer than was necessary, but that was only because Ludwig was quite warm under his arms and he was able to press his face into Ludwig's shirt and smell him, and that was quite a good reason to drag it out.

When the dreaded light bulb changing was complete, Alfred all but picked Ludwig up and set him down on the safe floor, the heavy bastard, and Ludwig was quick to squirm around, Alfred's hands still stubbornly clinging to his waist, and chide, "Alfred! You coulda made me break my neck!"

...kinda what Alfred had wanted to avoid.

Unfazed, Alfred merely met Ludwig's eyes and tossed out, "Let _me_ do all of the handy-work. Sorry to say that vertigo isn't a worthy cause of death. Stay off the ladders, won't ya? With all due respect, stick to the cooking and cleaning."

Ballsy of Alfred, a nobody bodyguard, to be telling an engineer to stay away from basic housework. Had Ludwig had half a mind to, he could have given Alfred a good beating. But he didn't, and so here they were.

Ludwig scoffed, mouth dropped open in offense, and then he glanced down and seemed to realize that Alfred was still holding him steady. His testy look faded, and when Ludwig realized that Alfred was shirtless and damp-haired from the shower, his face once more blazed unholy red.

Alfred reached down, took the dead bulb from Ludwig's hand, and added, "Light bulbs are my department from now on, got it?"

He bopped Ludwig's nose with the dead bulb, walked over and tossed it in the trash, and felt himself smirking away because during his glaring Ludwig was very frequently glancing down at his shirtless torso.

Alfred may not have had many things going for him in his life, but one thing he actually had good luck with was his looks. He was handsome, and knew it. Ludwig seemed to be noticing more and more, and Alfred could count his blessings for that. If Ludwig couldn't forget Ivan on his own, then maybe Alfred could just try to blind him instead, though Ludwig likely wasn't that shallow if he had married Ivan to begin with. Just like Alfred, Ludwig was only human, and far from perfect. Alfred could only use what he had.

The days passed, and the weather grew colder. Wetter.

Snow fell frequently, and Ludwig no longer went on Saturday jogs. Alfred liked to think that it was because Alfred had actually broken Ludwig of a routine, rather than just it was too cold and miserable outside. Alfred enjoyed imagining that he had more influence over Ludwig than he likely did.

However Ludwig may have felt about Alfred, it was still wonderful to sit there with him every night on the couch.

Ludwig hadn't had any wine since the night at the theatre, and Alfred was undeservedly proud of himself for that as well.

Alfred tried hard to pretend that Ludwig was falling for him, although Ludwig had given zero indication of holding any interest in Alfred that wasn't merely platonic. Ludwig hadn't yet closed the gap between them on the couch, didn't hold Alfred's hand any longer than necessary during any task, never leaned in too far when he spoke, and didn't vocally respond to Alfred's increasingly bold flirtations.

...for now.

Every day, though, Ludwig blushed less and less at Alfred's teases, and Alfred felt that he was close to getting retorts.

He was; the first retort came in the third week of November, when the company was on a week-long holiday. It was snowing again, humid and damp, the worst kind of weather, and they had made a quick grocery run to last them the week.

Alfred, being the dutiful husband, was carrying the majority of the bags, and, well—maybe he was taking this 'husband' role a bit too far, because when they reached the door, Alfred had spied a large spider crawling across it, probably seeking shelter for the winter. And it was _stupid_ , it was the stupidest thing Alfred had ever done, but goddamn it all if he hadn't set the grocery bags down, held a hand up to halt Ludwig, and then leapt forward with a burst of protectiveness.

She had been deathly afraid of spiders, as terribly as Ludwig was of heights; force of habit.

Alfred grabbed the spider up in his hand and meant to toss it over the railing, but fell still for just a second when Ludwig crossed his arms and thrust out his hip, face droll and shaking his head. That look clearly read, 'Did you just serve as my bodyguard against a _spider_?'

Oh, _shit_ —!

It was Alfred that time who blazed furiously red, feeling like the biggest idiot on the face of the planet as Ludwig's look of complete and utter disgust was out on full display.

Goddammit, goddammit, goddammit—

Alfred could only do what he always did and fake it, and he set his face, squared his shoulders, and tossed the little bugger over the side of the railing, face on fire and heart thudding. Felt an absolute fool, yup, and yet still he stomped over and wrenched the door open.

May as well go all the way.

Ludwig stood there for a long while, crinkled his nose, turned back to eye the fleeing spider, and then Ludwig heaved a sigh and spared Alfred the heart attack by taking a step.

And yet...

As Ludwig passed Alfred, his posture changed quite a bit. Loosened, relaxed, and Alfred was about a thousand percent certain that Ludwig _sauntered_ a little there, through the doorframe. Holy hell! He _did_ saunter, Alfred was so sure, and then Ludwig glanced at him in passing and crooned, deeply, "My _hero_."

Alfred winced, just a bit, but didn't mind the jab because his ego had already exploded under that beautifully teasing look Ludwig had sent him.

Whew!

As usual, as soon as Ludwig was no longer looking, Alfred scoped out his legs, quite fixedly, and then darted back to snatch up the groceries and bring them in.

Ludwig was very coy and very quiet, glancing frequently at Alfred from the corner of his eye, and Alfred knew that, sooner or later, he was in for it.

Alfred waited for it, waited and waited and waited, but Ludwig was keen to drag it out, and it was when they were sitting over dinner and Alfred was letting his guard down that Ludwig finally glanced up at him and began tearing him apart.

"So, Alfred," Ludwig began, in an enthrallingly sultry voice, steepling his fingers and staring Alfred down from above, "I wonder—was it in your contract to protect me from mother nature as well? Did Gilbert demand that you also keep me from straining my wrists carrying groceries? Do you earn a bonus for each door you open? Did Toris ask that you take the trash out to save me the hassle? Also, tell me, because I am so desperately curious—is it only eight-legged creatures you worry about? For I once saw a centipede here in the kitchen. I thought you should know."

Had Ludwig's voice gone any deeper, it would have been a frequency inaudible to Alfred's ears, and Alfred felt once more the burning of his face as he tried to remain stoic.

He failed, a little, staring at Ludwig without blinking, fork scraping mindlessly on his plate, lips pursed and shoulders high.

Humiliating, especially when Ludwig looked so much like Gilbert in that moment.

...and yet also very satisfying, given that Ludwig was looking him up and down with scrutiny.

Was he flexing? Might have flexed.

Despite the red of his face, Alfred managed to keep his voice very steady when he replied, stiffly, "My contract was to protect you from _everything_. That means my discretion. And, well, not to be rude, but you don't seem like the kind of person that does well with bugs. If you know what I mean. Or ladders. Or trash. I _do_ take my job very seriously."

Ludwig was very neat, fastidious, a perfectionist; it didn't seem so outrageous to Alfred that, ya know, maybe the guy didn't care for creepy crawlies.

Ludwig just gazed at him potently, above folded hands, and he drawled, lowly, "Is that so?"

Alfred raised his brow, and didn't budge. Sure as hell wasn't backtracking, no way! It had been said, and Ludwig could glower at him all he wanted but Alfred was too stubborn to ever take anything back.

Anyway, Ludwig was the one that had sauntered and called him 'hero', so, as far as Alfred's one-way brain was concerned, Ludwig had kind of given full consent for Alfred to do whatever the hell he wanted.

Seeing that Alfred was determined and unrepentant, Ludwig finally tilted his head, and at last murmured, "Well. It is sort of nice to have a pack mule at all times."

Bolstered and wanting to flirt, Alfred tried, "I like to think of myself as more of the 'knight in shining armor' type. So, ya know, if you could do a guy a favor and treat me that way, it would be great. You're the damsel, by the way, if you didn't catch that already."

Ludwig scoffed, lowered his hands, caught off guard, and for just a moment, Ludwig choked.

Alfred waited, eagerly, because this was really as far as he had gotten with Ludwig and he woulda liked it to keep going.

Closer and closer every time.

Finally, Ludwig found his voice again, and grumbled, "Well! I did forget about that ego, for a while." A hesitation, as Ludwig seemed to gather his nerves, and his voice was stronger and more sure when he added, "You're dashing, but forgive me if I say you're not exactly charming."

Dashing, eh?

A burst of ego, adrenaline, arrogance, and Alfred leaned across the table when he said in turn, "You'd be surprised."

When Alfred wanted to be, he was charming. Was pretty sure he could eventually sweep Ludwig off of his polished feet.

Before Ludwig could say anything else, Alfred sat up straight and smirked, offering, "Now. Just tell me which way the centipede went. I'll take care of it for you. Wait for me over there on the couch. You can lie down, if you want."

Too much? —...nah.

Ludwig narrowed his eyes, shook his head, and made a gesture with his hand as he very visually waved Alfred off.

"Very well, but be aware that I fully intend to smother you with a pillow."

Woulda gladly let that happen as long as Ludwig at least let him run his hands down those legs first.

He said as much, by uttering, deeply, "Worth it."

Ludwig blazed up red yet again, lost his nerve, and didn't play along anymore that night.

But the next morning, Ludwig invited Alfred on a walk. Not a jog, but just a walk, and Alfred very happily obliged, even with the snow pouring down.

Ludwig really just walked in circles, close to home, and Alfred should have been watching out for Ivan but instead just watched the snow collecting in Ludwig's hair, because Alfred was sometimes easily sidetracked.

By pretty things.

Ludwig chattered quite a bit during that walk, and Alfred was the quiet one, merely listening to him. Every time that Ludwig offered conversation was precious, and Alfred didn't interrupt.

Ludwig had no one else who wanted to listen to him.

For that, Ludwig valued Alfred.

They teased each other amicably as they walked back home, an hour or so later, and when they came inside, Ludwig turned to Alfred and gave him a long look-over, smiling away. Alfred just stood there compliantly, leaning back against the door, and stared right back.

Felt calm then, subdued, peaceful. Felt content under Ludwig's eyes.

That silent stare between them in that moment was as good as any verbal teasing.

Ludwig suddenly lifted his chin and inclined his head, saying, "You'll have to give me that. I'll fix it for you."

Alfred followed Ludwig's gaze and looked down to his coat, and could see that a seam was coming undone after years and years of service.

Well. If Ludwig insisted.

Alfred removed his coat without a word and held it out, because if Ludwig wanted to take care of him he certainly wasn't going to say 'no'. Ludwig patched up Gilbert's clothes, and so doing the same for Alfred was hardly much different.

Ludwig seemed pleased enough, at any rate, taking the coat in a second and wandering over to the bedroom. Alfred didn't follow him in there, couldn't, because that was the sacred line over which Alfred couldn't yet cross. The bedroom was off-limits, and so Alfred waited until Ludwig came back out with a little sewing kit.

Ludwig sat on the couch, pulled his legs up, took the coat in his hands, and began patching it up. Alfred wandered over and sat down across from him on the piano bench, hands clasped between his knees.

It was funny; Ludwig designed rockets and planes and the what-not all day, and yet somehow Alfred found Ludwig sewing up his coat far more entrancing. Couldn't look away, really, even though it was such a simple task. Alfred watched him in absolute fascination, because in some way he supposed it was quite like looking at a foreign world. Ludwig was his opposite in many ways, and every move he made was enthralling.

Endearing.

Alfred tried to make conversation then, as Ludwig sewed, because it seemed suddenly important to do so.

Felt a bit like a little piece of metal being drawn towards a magnet.

Ludwig glanced up at him from time to time as Alfred spoke, smiling softly and legs drawn up beneath him, and Alfred was quite taken with that look.

Started getting a little too imaginative, then. Started thinking of things that were never going to come to pass. Started wondering what it would have been like to be back home in the south, to build his house that he had always wanted, and to have Ludwig waiting there inside, just like this, tucked up on the couch as Alfred spoke to him. The sea just outside. Warm wind.

Yeah, right.

That was just a fantasy, and that image quickly shattered. Saw in his mind instead the reality of such a stupid notion; if Ludwig ever went home with him, what could Alfred offer him? Ludwig would be sitting on a sofa sewing clothes, alright, in a fuckin' trailer falling apart with neighbors screaming and dogs barking in the middle of BumFuck, NC, thanks a lot, goddamn Hicksville. Ludwig would take one look, start laughing, hop back in Ivan's flashy car, and drive straight in reverse to the city without glancing back.

Alfred was nothing, like Gilbert had said.

Money wasn't everything, no, he knew that, but it always held sway, even in the best people. Ludwig had grown up with a lot of it, Alfred hadn't, and there wasn't really a good in between. Alfred just couldn't give Ludwig anything at all, could offer him no certain financial stability. It may not have mattered, given how much Ludwig had, but in the end Gilbert could have ruined Ludwig at any second and for any reason, and Ludwig had no good fallback in Alfred as he had had in Ivan.

Ludwig must have known, and Alfred was too painfully aware of it.

But he wanted Ludwig anyway, and hoped that maybe Ludwig would consider Alfred worth the risk.

Even if Ivan's shoes sat there ever by the door, as Ludwig waited in vain for him to come home.

Well! A man could dream, couldn't he, and dream Alfred did in that passage of time. Could say that it was one of his happier moments, oddly enough, sitting there in that living room as Ludwig sewed up his torn coat. Couldn't describe it in words, not at all, but felt it all the same. Just that intangible sense of comfort that came from a normal home environment, something that Alfred had never had before.

Home.

It was a nice feeling, and Alfred fell into it.

Sometimes, Alfred just forgot that Ludwig was still technically married.

That night, though, it was brought to Alfred's attention quite rudely. Ludwig finished sewing his coat, put it on the rack, and when Ludwig came back over to gather his things, he bent over. Alfred was distracted from his legs by a glint of gold in the light. He glanced up, and felt a pang.

Ludwig's wedding ring had fallen out from beneath his sweater as he leaned over, the chain slipping out and coming into view.

Alfred hated the sight of it.

Sure did kill his mood, and he was a little quieter for the rest of the night.

He may have put his foot in his mouth for the hundredth time, however, when he finally did speak up, and then only to ask, stupidly, "If he signs the divorce papers, will you stop wearing that ring?"

As soon as the words came out, Alfred knew he had been very tactless, and Ludwig's eyes snapped up to pin him down. Alfred squirmed under his gaze, but only for a second, because Ludwig very quickly looked down.

Silence.

Ludwig didn't punch him, and didn't snap at him, but what happened was worse :

Ludwig's face completely and utterly collapsed, and it was the closest that Alfred had ever seen that that stoic man had come to bursting into tears. He had collapsed a few times before, but not like this. Ludwig looked in that moment as if the entire universe had just fallen down all around him, as if Alfred had stabbed him in the heart. It was either the thought of ever not wearing his ring or the thought of everything being done and over with by Ivan's pen that made him feel that way, and either way really fuckin' sucked.

Couldn't stand the sight of it, and so, for one of the very, very few times in his life, Alfred ignored his pride and said, lowly, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't've..."

Ludwig shook his head, as he tried to gather himself, and it took a long while before Ludwig lifted his head again and squinted open his eyes.

All he said was, "I don't want to think about it."

They didn't say anything else all night, and Alfred cursed himself as he lied down later on the couch for sleep.

Stupid. Why didn't he think before he spoke? Too impulsive.

The streetlamps cast a blue glow in the living room as Alfred watched the curtain fluttering with the heat. He tossed and turned for hours, beating himself up over being dumb, and maybe he was so bothered because of Ludwig's reaction. Not because he had been so distraught in and of itself, exactly, so much as the reason. Alfred was self-centered, and Ludwig not being instantly enamored with him enough to start forgetting about Ivan was agitating to him. That Ludwig didn't want to stop wearing that ring, that Ludwig dreaded those papers being signed more than seeing them as a merciful release.

Divorce wasn't freedom to Ludwig, and Alfred didn't benefit from that and so didn't care for it.

He was a jerk, but he always had been.

Sleep came and went, fitfully, as Alfred's mind was ever on Ludwig.

Couldn't say how much time had passed.

He faded in and out of a dream state, and inhaled into consciousness only when he thought he saw, behind the curtains, a shadow. Someone outside the house, their shadow dark against the streetlights streaming in.

A surge of panic, confusion, as he jolted upright and adrenaline rushed. Attempting to determine if he had been dreaming or not as awareness came back.

He bolted to his feet, but when his head cleared, there was no shadow there. He breathed through his mouth, tried to settle himself, and went to the window. He stayed out of sight, and very carefully peered out from the crack between the curtain and the window, trying not to draw attention to his presence. He looked out, but didn't see anything outside. Just mottled snow and the streetlights. From where he stood, he couldn't distinguish any sort of footprints or marks by the window.

He didn't see anything else, anything at all, sighed and settled his uneasy nerves, and determined that he was dreaming.

Still, he went to Ludwig's door, pushed it open, and looked inside, just in case. Ludwig was sleeping quite soundly, as usual, knocked out by narcotics, and everything was normal.

False alarm.

Alfred watched Ludwig sleep for a while, out of anxiety, eyes glancing frequently to the bedroom window. It suddenly became a little uncomfortable to Alfred, Ludwig sleeping alone with that window right there. As Ludwig had once said, if Ivan really wanted, he would just come in through that window, one way or another, and Alfred wouldn't know until it was too late.

That shadow, real or not, had startled him.

He was eventually distracted from distress by the sight of pale Ludwig, and once more leaned in the frame to watch him. Ludwig was ice, yeah, and Alfred suddenly realized how delicate ice actually was. Easy to shatter, easy to break, however cold it was. Easy to melt.

Ice cracked.

Ludwig was the frostiest type of flower, but still fully capable of wilting.

His thoughts then were a little muddled. Still sleep shocked. Still agitated and annoyed by Ludwig's collapse earlier in the night after getting ever closer to him. Ivan's ring. Ivan's shoes. Ivan's suits. Ivan's piano. Far too much of him remained here, and Alfred couldn't stand not having the full attention of something he wanted.

Ah hell—he was just out of sorts.

All he really knew what that Ludwig was beautiful, Alfred was lonely, Ivan was gone, and that bed looked too big for one person.

In the end, Alfred turned around and went back to the couch. Didn't crawl into Ludwig's bed that night, and that had been the correct decision, he knew. For now. Alfred was gathering his nerve, his courage, his will. May not have been right or rational, but Alfred had already been pulled out by the tide.

Ludwig was emotionally vulnerable, and Alfred might have been taking advantage of that. Ludwig was married, was painfully aware that it was broken, was distraught and lonely, and Alfred was forcibly pushing himself into a role that he had no right being in. Ludwig wasn't in the right headspace to be falling in love with someone else. Ludwig was so vulnerable in that moment that he would have attached himself to anyone that had come calling, just as he had when Ivan had first extended his hand.

Ludwig was desperate for affection, love, attention, everything Gilbert denied him, everything Ivan could no longer give him, everything Toris seemed incapable of producing. Everything that Alfred was willing to provide him. Alfred was aware of it, knew it, and didn't care.

Alfred was selfish, and always had been.

He wasn't that good a guy, either.


	14. Running the Gauntlet

**Chapter 14**

**Running the Gauntlet**

December.

Ludwig’s good mood had faded a bit as the holidays crept up. Alfred tried to be patient and keep his hopes up, despite his ego and arrogance reminding him that Ludwig should have been happy to be spending Christmas with Alfred instead of Ivan.

Ludwig stared out of the window a lot, and Alfred waited for the obligatory decorating.

It didn’t come.

Ludwig just hung up an advent calendar, and that was all. 

Every other house on the street was decked out, every building in the city was covered in disgusting Christmas commercialism, and Alfred was kinda disappointed that Ludwig wasn’t exactly turning his home into a gaudy ornament.

Over breakfast one morning, Alfred asked, “Aren’t you going to put up a tree? Didn’t you guys, like, invent Christmas trees or something?”

Ludwig looked up over his coffee, and made a deep noise of thought.

Alfred tried to imagine a younger Ludwig helping Gilbert decorate a Christmas tree. Dear god, wondered what the hell Christmases were like in Gilbert’s house. Could barely imagine anyone actually smiling like normal people. All he managed to conjure up was a weird little thought of Ludwig coming downstairs mechanically, face blank, to be hugged mechanically by Toris, face blank, and then to sit down beside Gilbert on the couch, who reached out mechanically and put an arm over Ludwig’s shoulder, face blank. A buncha creepy robots. 

No thanks.

To be fair, it would have been better than people screaming and throwing things and getting high and then hearing police sirens.

In the end, Ludwig murmured, simply, “I don’t feel like it this year.”

Alfred didn’t need Ludwig to finish the sentence.

‘Not without Ivan.’

As it often did, Alfred’s mind started wandering.

When he delivered Ludwig safely to work, Alfred made a little detour, and went looking around the city. It was a little stupid, probably, perhaps a bit childish, but Alfred still bought a crappy little fake tree and carted the box back to Ludwig’s house. He went back out and bought all the decorations he needed and wanted, and he stuck them in a pile in the corner.

Ludwig would be his helper, and god willing maybe the bastard would give him a mistletoe kiss or something. He _had_ bought some.

When he collected Ludwig later and they walked back inside, Ludwig’s eyes immediately fell upon the huge pile of boxes and baubles, and his mouth fell open.

Alfred nudged him along, and said, “We’re gonna set it all up together. You and me. Let’s call it bonding time.”

Ludwig scoffed, and then grumbled, “You’re going to be cleaning all of it up.”

Sure.

Alfred was a little pushy, but Ludwig changed clothes and came back into the living room all the same, and they hunkered down together to put up the ridiculous little tree. It was horrible, it really was, and as Ludwig played with the branches, Alfred looked down at the box and griped, “What a lie! Doesn’t look a damn thing like the picture.”

Ludwig snorted a little, and chided, “Lie in your bed.”

Alfred laughed, shook his head, and tried to spruce up the, er, spruce. It was ugly as hell, but Ludwig was smiling by the time they threw the garland and ornaments on, so that was worth it. When the star was put on the top, Ludwig began looping the lights, and Alfred glanced very eagerly back at the mistletoe, still on the pile of decorations. He was gathering his nerve, and looked frequently at Ludwig. Really wanted to kiss him, did he ever, and was hoping he would get lucky.

But then...

When the tree was finished, Alfred flipped the living room lights off and lit the tree up, and he expected Ludwig to smile.

He didn’t.

Ludwig swallowed, his jaw clamped and his lips pursed, and when he started blinking very quickly, Alfred’s mood was yet again killed. Just the longing on Ludwig’s face as he stared away at that ugly little tree. Beyond disheartening.

Ivan and Ludwig had decorated their own tree, perhaps, in this marital home.

Alfred stared at Ludwig for a while, and then went to the left-over decorations and began moving them up into his bedroom for storage.

The mistletoe was left very much unused.

It was kinda hard to hit on someone who looked like their heart was actually breaking.

In the morning, Ludwig eyed the tree up and down, and Alfred crept up behind him, meaning to ask him what he wanted for Christmas, if only to make conversation. Didn’t gather the nerve to ask when Ludwig suddenly sighed, and that was probably for the best, given that when Alfred came out of the shower later, it was to see Ivan’s shoes beneath the tree and not by the door.

Meh.

Guess he already knew what Ludwig wanted.

What Ludwig wanted, however, meant nothing to anyone else, and that was made most apparent to Alfred on the very last day that the company was open before it would go on the two-week holiday break. That day, Alfred was called once more up to Gilbert’s office before he could leave the building, and Alfred rolled his eyes and stomped up.

Still hadn’t thought of a damn good thing to get Ludwig for Christmas.

Just couldn’t think of anything.

The guards leered at Alfred as usual, he waved them off, and once more was standing before Gilbert.

Gilbert analyzed Alfred, perhaps to see how things were going, and then asked, “Nothing to report?”

“No,” Alfred easily answered, because it was true and Gilbert had no need to be angry. Gilbert judged his sincerity, seemed satisfied, and then beckoned him over.

When Gilbert sat down at his desk and Alfred was in front of him, there was a slight twinge of nervousness. Maybe if Ivan disappeared, didn’t come around anymore, if Ivan just vanished, then maybe Gilbert would decide Alfred was no longer necessary. It was only inevitable, sooner or later, either when the papers were signed or Ivan was at last put in jail, but Alfred would have liked to delay it.

This time, at least, that was the farthest thing from Gilbert’s mind.

Suddenly, Gilbert reached into his desk drawer, and pulled out a box. Looked heavy, expensive, and Alfred was quite taken aback when Gilbert set it on the desk and pushed it forward and said, rather dangerously, “Merry Christmas.”

Alfred shuddered a little.

Alfred wasn’t a rocket scientist like these guys, nah, but he wasn’t a complete imbecile either, and he knew that any gift from a man like Gilbert was going to be something Alfred probably didn’t want.

He glanced up at Gilbert, whose eerie eyes had dropped down into pale blue again with the heavy clouds rolling in. Gilbert was nearly smiling, very nearly, and that was absolutely terrifying.

Alfred inhaled, and opened the box.

A gun.

Figured. But not just any gun, naturally, but a damn beast of a handgun. A .50 caliber. Enough firepower to stop a goddamn charging bull. Alfred glanced at the bullets resting there beside of the ridiculously overpowered weapon, and felt a twist of his stomach. Hollow-point. Good lord, these bullets coming from this cannon of a gun would have annihilated the target. The destruction to a human would have been unfathomable. Total.

Alfred glanced at Gilbert again, anxiously, and Gilbert lifted his brow, drawling, “What? I prefer efficiency. Rather than waste time with all six bullets in your gun and risk injury to Ludwig, I would have you shoot the bastard one time and be done with it. Once and for all.”

Six bullets...

Gilbert did have a point, hated to say. Ivan was huge, powerful, and it would take all of those bullets to stop him, to take him down, and in those precious seconds something could have gone very wrong. Hated conceding points to Gilbert, but this time it was necessary.

So Alfred loaded the gun without a word, put it back in the box, and tucked it under his arm.

Was he supposed to say ‘thanks’?

He didn’t, and left Gilbert’s office without another word, feeling uneasy and conflicted.

He knew what the right thing was, knew what it could all possibly come down to, and knew that, should it have come to it, of course he needed to pull the trigger. He had wanted to, had desired to, had thought about it endlessly at first, but now...

Honest to god, he didn’t know if he could bring himself to shoot Ivan now, because it would break Ludwig’s heart. Gilbert may have wanted Ivan dead, but Ludwig didn’t, and Alfred was already to the point where he would have done anything to keep Ludwig happy, even if that meant not shooting.

It would be an absolute last option, an act of desperation and necessity, when there was positively on other choice. If it came down to the wire, to Ludwig’s life or Ivan’s, then Alfred would shoot. Until then, he would aim only to scare, and if he did need to ever shoot the bastard, god forbid, he’d aim at his leg. (Ivan just wouldn’t be walking anytime soon after that.)

Ludwig was perking up; didn’t want that to stop. Sure as hell couldn’t flirt with Ludwig right after murdering his estranged husband. Kinda awkward.

Alfred was stopped by the guards, as usual, and Feliciano was quick to ask, “Everything alright?”

Why were they always so curious? Nosy bastards.

Alfred just said, “Yeah. Smooth sailing.”

Hardly.

Lovino eyed the box under Alfred’s arm, likely had an idea of what it was, and suddenly uttered, gruffly, “Don’t forget to call us if something happens. I get bored standing here every goddamn day.”

At that Alfred snorted, and tried to cheer himself up a little. No point in fretting over it, after all. Whatever happened would happen whether Alfred made himself sick over it or not. If it came to the wire, that was that, but tossing and turning every night wouldn’t avert a crisis.

Feliciano studied Alfred, intensely, looked him up and down, and suddenly sneered a little. He lowered his voice, leaned in, and said, very quietly, “Say, Mr. Hero— Ludovico is kinda cute, isn’t he?”

Lovino rolled his eyes.

Alfred’s brow shot up, he scoffed, and then he ran a hand through his own hair, trying so hard to appear unfazed.

Mr. Hero? Ludwig had to have said something to them, because Ludwig had thrown that word out a few times, playfully. Wonder what Ludwig said about Alfred behind his back. Was he making a memorable impression on blondie? Better have, as hard as he had been working.

And well...

“Yeah!” Alfred said, as casually as possible. “So what?”

Because Ludwig was cute, to say the very least.

It was Feliciano then that rolled his eyes, grimacing, and he waved his hand irritably in the air. Lovino leaned in to his brother’s side, raking Alfred up and down as much as Feliciano was, and then said, to Alfred and yet also to his brother, “Maybe he’s not, ah, you know. _Frocio_.”

Eh?  
Feliciano lifted his chin, seemed kinda grumpy suddenly, and grumbled, “I dunno. He doesn’t act it, does he. But neither does Gilbert.”

They studied Alfred, as Alfred grew agitated under their eyes, and his mood was shifting yet again.

Act it?

Knew what they were talking about, what they were thinking, why they were studying him.

Made more certain when Lovino straightened back up, hardened his face, and said, as roughly as ever, “Whatever. Just keep an eye on the princess, huh? Whatever else you do is your business.”

A surge of anger.

Feliciano and Lovino clearly liked Ludwig, had a big soft spot for him, worried about him and called him ‘friend’, seemed to be looking out for him, had good intentions, and yet...

Still, in some way, they were also demeaning him, in a very subtle and perhaps unintentional manner.

Just like Alfred had, the night he had found out.

No one was perfect, he knew that better than anyone, but it still annoyed Alfred that these two men called Ludwig friend and still thought less of him, even though Alfred was guilty of that, too. Being introspective was hard, and it was much easier to be annoyed with someone else than it was yourself.

Feliciano and Lovino, just like Alfred, had grown up in a different environment, a different culture, and maybe it was quite natural for them to classify Ludwig as less masculine than they were, despite Ludwig being taller than the both of them and just as broad as Lovino. The Italian men around here all had that same tough macho kind of air, false or not, and anyone who didn’t fit that was deemed weaker. They held Gilbert in much higher regard, obviously, because Gilbert was, not to be crass about it, ‘the man’. Ludwig wasn’t, and therefore Ludwig was automatically thrust into the category of feminine, despite looking the farthest thing from. Feliciano had said that Gilbert ‘didn’t act that way’.

But Ludwig didn’t either, if by ‘act that way’, they meant ‘he’s not flamboyant’.

Princess. Sure.

Humans were strange creatures, and so Alfred just tried to let it go.

Anyway, woulda been the biggest hypocrite on Earth had he opened his mouth and said ‘Don’t call him that’, because Alfred had already declared Ludwig his damsel in distress. Same thing, the exact same thing, but hearing it from someone else was disconcerting.

Ludwig did nothing different from any other man, but the box was there all the same.

Alfred walked away then, and Feliciano called, as the elevator doors shut, “Hey! Whatever you do— We’ll kick your ass if you ever make him cry.”

...and there it was.

The doors shut, before Alfred could spit back a retort.

Damn.

Wondered how Ludwig must have felt, knowing that the people he cared about and that cared about him in turn thought him so weak. If he had known how they talked about him behind his back. Ludwig had already been so angry with Alfred, for saying much less.

Well! Well...

It wasn’t an insult. Really. It wasn’t like that. People were protective of Ludwig because they cared about him, that was all, and they didn’t mean it to be disrespectful. It was just instinct, just a natural reaction. Men held open doors for women because they respected them, not because they thought them too dumb and weak to open a door for themselves. Same thing. Feliciano and Lovino and Gilbert and Toris (and Alfred) shielded Ludwig and protected him because they loved him, not because they were so certain he couldn’t take care of himself. ...mostly. If Ludwig was dumb and weak, then it was only when it came to Ivan. In every other aspect, Ludwig was perfectly capable of handling himself.

Alfred was protective of Ludwig because he cared about him, and not because he found Ludwig pitiful.

Uneasy and aggravated, Alfred tried to make it back to Ludwig, to look at him and meet his eyes, because when he saw Ludwig nothing else really seemed to matter.

Didn’t make it.

An obstacle stood in the hall, between Alfred and that coveted office door.

Toris.

Alfred sighed and rolled his eyes, wanting away from these creeps, and Toris snorted.

“Nice to see you, too.”

Did Toris really count as Alfred’s ‘boss’? Did he have to be nice to Toris?

Because he didn’t wanna be.

So Alfred just grunted, crankily, “What do you want?"

A lofty lift of Toris’ brow, and Alfred swore that he had never in his life seen someone able to look so goddamn condescending. Never. Toris had truly perfected an art, no doubt about it, and his face was perfectly punchable. He and Gilbert were absolutely soul-mates.

“I just came to say ‘Merry Christmas’,” Toris drawled, as he looked Alfred over. His eyes rested briefly on the box under Alfred’s arm, and his lips twitched. “And to give you my gift."

Oh, no, now what?

These guys.

But when Toris walked up to him, he didn’t give Alfred a fuckin’ bazooka or anything, and merely reached out and stuffed something in Alfred’s breast pocket. Alfred glanced down, and actually inhaled quite sharply. 

Holy hell—a huge wad of money, hundreds, completely filling his pocket. Musta been thousands of dollars there, and Alfred glanced up at Toris, feeling a little clammy. Shoulda been happy, maybe, grateful, whatever, but Alfred just felt rather nervous. Uneasy.

“What’s this?” he asked, as his heart raced.

“Your holiday bonus,” Toris supplied.

It was stupid, maybe, but Alfred couldn’t help but feel that Toris saw him as more of a dog. This money was nothing to Toris, pennies, and yet was remarkably substantial to Alfred, and Toris knew it. Toris must have felt more like a man who had just bought a homeless guy a coffee and therefore considered his good deed done.

Alfred was dirt to these guys.

And then, beyond that, there was the motive.

Holiday bonus? Bullshit. Toris and Gilbert had emotionally manipulated Alfred, and now they were giving him gifts, money, and Alfred wasn’t blind to the reason. They were just bribing him in a sense, giving him incentive to stay alert and on guard. Sure, a bodyguard needed compensation for risking their life, but none of this was really normal.

Maybe Alfred was just over thinking and taking things too personally because he had broken the rules and gotten too close to a client.

If any of his other clients had stuffed a stack of bills in his pocket, Alfred woulda said ‘thanks a bunch’ and carried on without a second thought.

He really needed to screw his head back on straight. Ludwig had messed him up.

Toris suddenly said, very randomly, “Do you know how difficult it is to get a marriage annulled? It’s quite annoying. And not in our best interest.”

“What’s that mean?” Alfred asked, shifting around.

“That means that I need you fully alert for a long time. Our goal is to have Ivan sign the divorce papers. So that property and belongings can be legally split. With an annulment, Ludwig gains nothing at all. Divorce will benefit him. Ivan has a great amount of personal wealth. At present, although he hasn’t yet done so, Ivan can still cause quite a few headaches for us in a legal sense. So. Sooner or later Ivan will sign, one way or another.”

Toris glanced down at Alfred’s gun, and Alfred could see the pursing of Toris’ lips.

“Or perhaps Ludwig will be a widower. That would be the best outcome of all.”

Alfred balked at that, straightened up and inhaled, angry and terrified and everything in between. These assholes—

He sidestepped Toris, face red and wanting out of here, and Toris called to him from behind.

“Whatever happens, you’ll have our full power behind you. You’ll be immune from prosecution. On our honor.”

Some honor!

Alfred ignored Toris, and all he wanted then was to see Ludwig, the only good person in this damn building, and yet he hesitated there before the door.

The box under his arm. The money in his pocket. The distress on his face.

Shit.

Alfred turned abruptly on his heel, stomped once more past lingering Toris, who snorted, and then got onto the elevator. He closed the doors before Toris could decide he wanted to ride, too, and tried to gather his head. The cold air outside was helpful, but the ride back to Ludwig’s house was still too long. He felt guilty somehow when he turned the key on the door that had once been Ivan’s, and he tucked the money away up in the bedroom, along with the gun. No need for it just yet.

Maybe he was just trying to delay what seemed to be inevitable.

Toris and Gilbert were manipulating him alright, and now maybe Alfred could see a clearer picture about as to why. They wanted Ludwig safe, sure, but it seemed that they also wanted Ivan to exit stage altogether.

Death was easier and less messy than divorce.

Had Alfred really been hired as a bodyguard or as more of a hitman?

Not what he had signed up for.

To distract himself, Alfred went back out into the city, because this was the last day he would have free time before Christmas. The last chance to get Ludwig something.

_Something._

What did you get someone who had everything?

Not a gun, for sure.

Ludwig was impossible to shop for, and nothing Alfred came up with ever seemed useful or worthwhile. Ludwig was brilliant, rich, classy. Alfred was clueless. So, in the end, dumbass Alfred just bought some flowers. What else could he do? Had nothing else to offer a man like Ludwig, and he wasn’t emotionally capable of writing out a sincere card, so this seemed the only route.

Alfred only ever did his best.

At the last second, he bought himself a bottle of decent scotch, for extra courage.

He hid them up in the bedroom with everything else, and bided time. It was Friday; Christmas fell on Monday. They’d last until then, surely, without wilting.

And they did, for the most part, but Alfred still felt rather dumb when he woke up that morning, greeted Ludwig with a cheery ‘Merry Christmas’, and then slunk upstairs as Ludwig made breakfast. While in his barely-used bedroom, Alfred observed himself in the mirror, and tried to find good things about himself.

Just couldn’t ever really think of anything there he liked.

He took his glasses off, combed his hair back, put on the only good sweater he had and a little cologne, grabbed the flowers, and prayed that he could complete this ridiculous mission without coming off as an absolute loser.

Ludwig didn’t look back at him for a while, focused on cooking, and Alfred asked, “Will Gilbert and Toris come over?”

Ludwig scoffed.

“I’m afraid not. They won’t set foot in this house. It’s Ivan’s, after all.”

“Oh. Well. Will you go over there?”

Ludwig was intentionally not looking at Alfred then, and his voice was lower, rougher, when he murmured, “No. I don’t think so. I haven’t been invited. Since I left home the first time. I think it will just be you and me today.”

To try to cheer him up, Alfred swaggered forward, clapped Ludwig on the back with his left hand, and said, “Good! Better that way.” Ludwig finally turned his head, looked over at Alfred, and Alfred pushed the flowers into Ludwig’s face and added, “Merry Christmas. Sorry. I didn’t know what the hell to get you. You have everything.”

Ludwig stared at him, eyes wide and mouth slightly open, gawking at Alfred as if Alfred had rocketed down from space.

Automatically, Ludwig breathed, “Thank you,” but made no move to take the flowers. Made no move at all, come to think, seemed stupefied and dumbfounded, and Alfred snorted a little.

“The ham is burning,” he offered, and Ludwig jumped and inhaled, refocusing on the stove and coming out of his trance.

Alfred set the flowers on the counter, as Ludwig glanced over at him every few seconds, and Alfred was rather pleased with himself when Ludwig set the flowers in a vase and put them in the middle of the table.

It was better than nothing, Alfred supposed, and Ludwig just stared away at him as they ate.

It started snowing shortly after, and Ludwig finally said, when they washed dishes together, “I have something for you, too.”

Alfred smiled, brightly, and was pretty sure he felt elated. Ludwig must have cared about him, to get him anything at all.

The present that Ludwig had for Alfred wasn’t under the tree (nothing was there aside from those damn shoes), and instead Ludwig slunk almost abashedly into his bedroom and came back out with a package. As if he had hidden it there in a fit of nerves, but now that Alfred had presented him with a gift he had regained his courage.

Still, Ludwig was practically squirming and was certainly avoiding eye contact when he held the package out and said, in a voice that threatened to give out, “Here. This is for you. It’s nothing... You probably won’t like it.”

Alfred took the gift, and replied, honestly, “I don’t care what it is. I’m just happy you got me anything.”

Ludwig lifted his head, raised his eyes, and seemed encouraged.

Alfred plopped down on the couch, Ludwig sat on the piano bench, hands wringing a bit as Alfred tore open the paper.

Well...

Wasn’t what he had expected, exactly, but he supposed he could have.

A suit.

Alfred snorted, looked up at Ludwig, who very quickly said, perhaps preemptively defensive, “For the theatre. You know. If we go again.”

We?

Alfred lifted a brow, smirked away, and was content enough that Ludwig was beginning to think of Alfred and him as ‘we’. Us. You and I. As if Ludwig were considering Alfred a potentially permanent part of the scenery, and Ludwig was beginning to think of a future that apparently involved Alfred.

Alfred was absolutely onboard with that.

The suit itself was nice. Very expensive, naturally, though surely much less so than Ludwig’s suit. Alfred wasn’t a suit guy by any means, but Ludwig smiled in relief when Alfred said, “I like it.”

Ludwig stood up, and said, “Try it on.”

Alfred obeyed, although Ludwig likely didn’t mean for Alfred to rip his shirt and pants off right there in the living room. When Alfred was in boxers, Ludwig turned away, face red again, as Alfred squirmed and wriggled his way into the suit.

A little tight.

Ludwig had eyeballed, no doubt, and when Alfred had successfully forced his shoulders into the jacket, Ludwig returned his gaze and looked him up and down.

When Ludwig came forward and took the jacket into his hands, testing the fit, Alfred found himself flexing and bracing as usual, because, ya know, Ludwig’s hands were suddenly running all over him.

“It’s a little small,” Ludwig murmured to himself. “Don’t worry. We’ll go to the tailor and fix it. I just guessed.” Ludwig removed his warm hands, backed up, and gave Alfred a good observation, before adding, “You clean up well.”

Alfred’s smirk intensified.

Yet again, that arrogance and ego deflated, because Ludwig just _stared_ at him. Ludwig stared at Alfred, eyes running restlessly over Alfred’s face, and from the steady lowering of Ludwig’s brow, Alfred was pretty sure that once again Ludwig wasn’t seeing the person he wanted to see. Ah, goddammit. Ludwig could stare holes through Alfred all night, but it wouldn’t turn Alfred into Ivan.

Even with a suit, even without glasses, Alfred wasn’t Ivan, and he didn’t like to think that Ludwig was pretending.

To distract Ludwig from trying to reshape Alfred into a big ugly Russian motherfucker, Alfred suddenly said, “Say! I bought some scotch for tonight. You wanna go on a walk or something before we get wrecked?”

Ludwig’s eyes cleared up, he came back to Earth, and nodded his head.

Alfred changed, and Ludwig was performing his staring match then with the piano, until Alfred led him out of the door. He didn’t miss that when they passed a payphone at one point, Ludwig suddenly hesitated and looked over, as if desperate to use it. He knew who Ludwig wanted to call, and knew he wasn’t supposed to let him.

Ludwig wanted to wish his husband a Merry Christmas, but he couldn’t, so Alfred put his hand on the back of Ludwig’s arm and forced him along.

Not the cheeriest walk ever, nor the cheeriest Christmas for that matter, but they did what they could, and when they were back inside and the snow was falling hard, Ludwig cracked open a bottle of wine and dumped it in a pot. Alfred watched as he tossed a few things in it, and hovered nosily above him.

“What’s that?”

“Glühwein. Ever had it?”

“Never even heard of it,” Alfred snorted.

“It’s a Christmas drink in Germany. It reminds me of home.”

Germany or Gilbert? Ludwig had to have been very young when he came to America. Didn’t seem as if he could have had many memories of his home country.

That was when Alfred thought to actually ask, “How old were you when Gilbert brought you here?”

“Nine. But during the holidays we always flew back and spent a few weeks there. I haven’t been now in...seven years. For a few years there, I went to Russia instead.”

Christmas in Russia? Pfft. Musta been some mess.

Alfred didn’t press for more information, because he didn’t wanna know, but Ludwig was in one of those moods where he felt like spilling his soul to Alfred for no reason, and so he carried on.

“It’s a little different in Russia. But I liked it. I suppose because Ivan was there, explaining everything to me. The only thing I didn’t like was that we had to pretend we were just friends. We couldn’t exactly go around holding hands there, you know. Can you imagine how ridiculous that felt, walking down the street with my husband and pretending that we were just business partners? Our marriage isn’t recognized in Russia. But his mother loved him anyway. She knew all about me. She demanded to meet me.” A hint of a smile on Ludwig’s face, despite his crinkled brow. “She hugged me when I walked through the door and kissed my cheek. I hadn’t even introduced myself. She was so nice to me. She said she was happy that someone else was taking care of her son. So she wouldn’t worry about him as much. I wish... I would have spent more time with her, if I could have. That was the first time I had ever seen what it was like to have a mother.”

Alfred watched Ludwig, and didn’t mention that he didn’t really know what that felt like, either. 

After a silence, Alfred asked, “Why didn’t she just come over here?”

“She said she didn’t want to leave home. She’d be homesick, even if she had Ivan.”

Homesick.

Yeah, he knew that feeling, even just a few states away. Couldn’t imagine how much worse that would have felt, being on a different continent, across an ocean, in a different country that had an entirely different culture and language.

Isolated.

They fell silent for a while, as Ludwig poured himself a mug of his wine concoction and handed one to Alfred. Alfred sipped at it, and it was nice. Certainly cozy enough, pleasant, but Alfred had something much harder in mind, and quickly retrieved his bottle from the bedroom.

He spiked his mug of gloo-whatever with scotch, as Ludwig snorted, and they began the night proper.

The sun set, and Alfred was pretty warm, as Ludwig plowed through the entire pot of wine and so ended up making another, as Alfred took on the bottle of scotch. He shouldn’t have gotten drunk, he knew. Needed to be sober and alert at all times, to protect Ludwig should Ivan randomly show up, but hell.

Alfred was only human.

The tipsy chatter between them was a little more pleasant, a little less dreary, and Ludwig’s red face was from alcohol that time, despite Alfred’s occasional flirtations.

It was the first time Alfred had ever had a Christmas that felt _happy_. No one fighting. No police. No drugs. No beatings. Just him and Ludwig, a tree, lights, snow falling outside, warmth and comfort. The only thing that could have made it better was if Ludwig had been sitting beside of him and Alfred could have thrown an arm over his shoulder.

Maybe he wasn’t the only one having those kinds of thoughts.

“Alfred,” Ludwig suddenly murmured, out of nowhere. Alfred snapped his head up, tipsily, and was caught instantly under Ludwig’s potent gaze. “I find myself in a bit of a...quandary.”

“Oh?” Alfred drawled, glass raising up to his lips again and knocking back another swig.

Ludwig averted his eyes then to the glittering tree, and smiled, just a little.

“Indeed. It’s just... I hate to say that I think I’m getting a little attached to you. Ha. Isn’t that like the number one unwritten rule of bodyguards? Not to get attached? It makes it hard to do the job.”

Oh yeah—whoops.

To keep Ludwig from choking and cutting himself off, Alfred very honestly said, “I broke that rule with you a long time ago, man.”

Ludwig glanced at him, bit his bottom lip, seemed deep in thought, and then carried on.

“Well, then. I kind of enjoy having you around. It’s nice not to be alone, and to have someone who... I can tell you things I can’t tell anyone else, you know? You’re not a part of the company. It’s like you’re...”

A pause, as Ludwig raised and lowered his shoulder awkwardly.

Ludwig had a hard time speaking aloud about feelings and anything sentimental, except in very rare occasions.

“It’s just... When I don’t need you anymore, I think I’ll actually miss you.”

Ludwig not needing Alfred anymore was scary as hell, and it was a prospect that Alfred hoped was very, very far off.

Ludwig wouldn’t meet his eyes, and Alfred turned his own to the flowers sitting over on the kitchen table.

Ah, hell.

“You can need me forever,” Alfred finally uttered, heart thudding and stomach twisting. “You can just tell Gilbert that you need me with you at all times for the rest of your life. Doesn’t he have the same two suits?”

Ludwig lifted his head, seemed startled, and Alfred thought he cracked a smile.

“Are you seeking an extended contract?” Ludwig teased, and Alfred snorted.

“Hell yeah. Say, I’ll bet Gilbert wouldn’t have any problem believing that you need me there forever.”

A falling of Ludwig’s face, and Alfred realized once again that he had been unintentionally condescending or insensitive. Gilbert already thought quite lowly of his little brother, and that might have stung just a little.

It passed, as it always seemed to, and Ludwig abruptly stood up. In his intoxication he staggered, and Alfred leapt up to steady him, although his own balance wasn’t great. Instead of saving Ludwig, it was more of a tangle of hands in shirts as he and Ludwig tottered and tried to right the other, and when they finally found some sort of balance, they were chest to chest. Ludwig’s hands were tangled around Alfred’s waist as Alfred held Ludwig by the arm and collar, and then, thoughtlessly, Alfred suddenly leaned in, eyes locked on Ludwig’s.

Ludwig seemed to hold his breath, paralyzed.

The urge was strong, and seemed natural, as Alfred held pretty-eyed Ludwig’s gaze.

A sudden voice in his head. Gilbert’s eyes. Toris’ condescending look.

Widower.

Ludwig, dressed in black and mourning.

An awful rush of something Alfred couldn’t place. Unpleasant.

Out of nowhere, Alfred felt terrible, and he averted his eyes and pulled back. Ludwig stood placidly still, not speaking or moving even as Alfred gave a scoff and let him go. He stepped back, and Ludwig’s eyes fell to the floor.

A thick, awkward silence.

Alfred was the one to fall short then and back off, because he just felt so miserably and inexplicably guilty. How could he look at Ludwig and flirt with him then, as Gilbert’s new gun rested upstairs? Knowing what he was being led to, what he was being encouraged to do, what he was being harnessed now for. He had misunderstood the intention, and had fallen into the wrong trap.

How could he press forward and kiss Ludwig then, knowing that it was alarmingly possible that he would end up killing the man Ludwig loved more than anything? Those shoes had been placed under the tree, in a silent, desperate wish.

The entire world seemed to be pulling every one of Ludwig’s strings from behind some curtain, and Alfred was just another one, either by his own will or by Gilbert’s.

Ludwig grumbled something incomprehensible and suddenly ducked inside his bedroom. Alfred stared at the door and waited, but Ludwig never came back out.

Alfred wandered over a while later and leaned against the bedroom door, listened, and could hear Ludwig crying.

Ha—someone crying on Christmas day. Familiar.

He rested on the couch, and the last image in his head before he fell asleep was of Ludwig in Russia, covered in snow and hugging an old woman.

Alfred was glad she was dead, so she wouldn’t cry on the day he had no choice but to pull the trigger.

One less broken heart in the world.


	15. Overdose of Fear

**Chapter 15**

**Overdose of Fear**

The snow was high as January rolled along.

New Year had been uneventful; Ludwig had just locked himself up in his bedroom again and cried after drinking too much, the air of awkwardness lingering after Alfred had bombed.

Alfred didn't tell Ludwig about the gun that Gilbert had gotten him, but he didn't really need to. Ludwig was sharp, observant, quick, and had noticed that the gun Alfred hooked into his belt every morning was different. He didn't say anything, but Alfred could see the crinkle of worry in his brow, the crease on his forehead as he stared away at the pistol.

Maybe Ludwig knew who it had come from and why.

That aside, once the holidays were over, Ludwig perked back up a little, and everything seemed forgotten. Ludwig was actively retorting to Alfred now on a consistent basis, and Alfred was steadily scooting himself across the couch. Hadn't closed the gap yet, but was ever closer. Ludwig must have noticed, as he noticed everything, but was silent.

A good sign, maybe.

Alfred was steadily putting the guilt behind him, because hell—if he ended up shooting Ivan and killing him, then the bastard had it coming. Hadn't killed the other guy like he had always wanted, and maybe taking out that anger on Ivan wouldn't be such a bad thing. Ivan's mother was dead. No one would mourn him aside from Ludwig, and Ludwig would eventually get over it, because if it did happen then it was because Alfred had had no choice.

Toris and Gilbert had sworn to shield Alfred from the law as much as Alfred shielded Ludwig.

So far, though, Ivan had been MIA.

The beginning of February.

Alfred had played out a hundred scenarios in his head, considered the pros and cons, the possible outcomes, and had decided that he and Ludwig were far enough long now to where finally kissing Ludwig wouldn't cause the poor bastard a complete mental breakdown. Ludwig and Ivan had been technically apart now for around a year, a little less. That was enough time for Ludwig to move on, right?

Right.

Alfred's grand plan was to spring upon Ludwig on Valentine's Day, which mercifully fell upon a Sunday. He had it all mapped out in his head. He would take Ludwig out on a lunch date, to a café or some such, and then would wear his new suit to take Ludwig on a trip to the theatre. Afterwards, when they came home, Alfred would wait for Ludwig to go take a shower and then set up a more romantic atmosphere in the kitchen. Candles, flowers, the whole she-bang, and when Ludwig was good and well seduced Alfred would lean across the table and kiss him.

He had played it over and over in his head for weeks, and was so set on it, so desperate for it to be that way, that he never once considered anything going wrong.

He bided his time.

When Tuesday came rolling around yet again, Alfred looked forward to seeing Gilbert's manor if only for the sea. The house was kinda creepy to him now, sure, but the beach was great, even covered in ice and snow. It had become his day to hang out on the back porch and just watch the waves, as Ludwig tidied up. Nothing had ever calmed Alfred quite like the ocean. The one happy place he had.

Weeds swaying on the sand dunes in the wind.

He had spent nights sleeping on the dunes back home. A safe place.

Alfred went in and out of the house for the hours they were there, dividing his attention between the sea and the pretty blond thing bustling about.

When he went back in and found Ludwig sitting on a chair, hemming a worn edge of Gilbert's shirt, Alfred sat down in front of him, and randomly asked, "How come you didn't move back in here instead of being alone?"

It showed how far they had come that Ludwig's mood didn't founder, and he easily met Alfred's eyes as he replied, "I did my time with Gilbert. I wasn't looking to return. Not after all that. Nothing is worse than a Gilbert that can say 'I told you so'."

"Fair enough," Alfred laughed, and watched Ludwig sew with fascination, as always.

After a second, Ludwig did add, "I do miss the beach, though. I had gotten used to it. We moved here when I was eleven. Before that, we lived in a penthouse in Manhattan. But when my, ah, _dislike_ of heights became more apparent, Gilbert moved us out here. To make me more comfortable."

Alfred lowered his eyes briefly to Gilbert's shirt, and made a noise of interest.

Curious.

Gilbert was just another man that Alfred couldn't really figure out. When Alfred thought that Gilbert and Toris were the absolute worst, Ludwig would say something like that that made him wonder. As usual, Alfred let his mind wander a little, and turned his eyes over to the couch beneath that portrait. Tried to envision Gilbert at home. How he interacted with Toris. Long ago, maybe Gilbert had sat there on the couch at night, Toris resting against his chest, and upon the laps of both of them reposed a small Ludwig.

This weird family.

Wished he could have been a fly on the wall sometimes. Wished he could see Toris actually walk up to Gilbert and show him affection, if only because he wanted to see if Gilbert's face actually changed, even a little, and if Toris looked at Gilbert as condescendingly as he did everyone else. Wanted to see which one of them was really in charge, despite Gilbert's need for control. Toris was some piece of work, and Gilbert seemed to fall instantly still whenever Toris reached out to put a hand on his shoulder.

Wondered how icy Gilbert would have handled a small child running into his room in the middle of the night crying because he had had a nightmare.

Woulda asked, but didn't really think he truly wanted to know the answer. Likely wasn't one he wanted, just like everything else in this world.

Let it go in the end, because Alfred only cared about Ludwig.

They fell into a comfortable silence, as Alfred watched Ludwig tending Gilbert's clothing for a while longer, and then he went back out for one more long look at the sea before it was time to go.

Couldn't wait for Valentine's Day.

Wondered what kind of wine he should get Ludwig. Ah, no need—Ludwig seemed to have an infinite supply down there in those cabinets. Swore that Ludwig could have just pulled bottle after bottle out with no end in sight. A bottomless pit of minor alcoholism.

Amidst his wandering mind and his plans for landing this massive catch, Alfred had made a mistake; he had started letting his guard down, just a little.

Three months since Ludwig had stared into that alley, and Ivan hadn't shown up. No word. Neither sight nor sound. Not a peep. Alfred had stopped looking over his shoulder.

Wrong thing to do.

Alfred watched the gentle waves lapping on the sand and ice, the clouded sky turning the sea a pale grey. Overcast and dreary, but the sound of the ocean was always comforting. Was gonna snow any minute, from the look of it, and Alfred inhaled, deeply, getting in the last of the salt water scent for a full week.

He turned on his heel, and meant to go back inside.

He stopped short for a second when he heard a sudden, awful sound.

Screaming.

An awful screaming. Shrieking. Shrill, cracking, hair-raising. Had never heard such awful shrieking as that, and Alfred came out of his stupor and skidded through the door so quickly that he slipped on the polished floor and fell on his ass. A frantic second of turning his head this way and that to locate the source of that awful screaming, and when he had it, he pushed himself up and started sprinting, pulling his gun out as he went.

Nearly slammed into the front door more than he opened it, and oh, god—!

Terror.

That awful, high-pitched, wrathful shrieking was coming from Ivan.

Had only a split second to take it all in, that scene :

Ludwig was pinned down over the hood of the car by Ivan, in the exact manner a cop would have held down a suspect to cuff them, one hand yanking his arm behind his back and the other hand clenched up in Ludwig's hair to press his face into the car. From the awful, pained look on Ludwig's face, his arm was about to snap at any second. Ivan leaned over him, brute strength on full display, and was just _screaming_ at him.

Had never heard such screaming, he really hadn't, hadn't known anyone could scream like that.

Ludwig's nose was bleeding.

Senses heightened as adrenaline lit him up, he raised the gun and aimed it steady, barging down the drive and to the car, barely able to comprehend a single word that was coming out of Ivan's mouth. Was too high on fear to really focus on that.

Just knew that Ludwig was in danger.

His finger held steady over the trigger, and Alfred was faced with the situation he had been fretting over.

To shoot Ivan dead right there or not.

Knew what Gilbert and Toris woulda said, what they wanted him to do, but Alfred instead took another step, putting himself in front of the car and now within Ivan's sights. Ivan, however, didn't seem to notice Alfred right away, so intent on screaming Ludwig into filth.

Caught a few words, here and there amidst the blood pounding in his ears.

"—you! How could you? What about _me_? We're _married_ , you're _my_ husband, _mine_ , how _dare_ you! I got you this fuckin' car, and you use to drive _him_ around, who the hell do you think you are—"

Alfred shouted, abruptly, "Get back! Step back!"

At the sound of Alfred's loud voice, Ivan fell suddenly still, and glanced up.

The first time ever meeting Ivan's eyes directly for more than a passing glance. Being locked in that gaze was actually kinda terrifying, because Ivan was terrifying. Those damn eyes were like razors, piercing and pale and crazed. Alfred didn't flinch, but could see why Ludwig froze up under them. As frightening as any radioactive thing up in space.

He shouted, one more time, "Get off! I'll shoot!"

Somehow, someway, Alfred freed his eyes just enough to cast a fleeting glance at Ludwig. Ludwig stared at him, brow low and eyes wide, and managed to give the very slightest shake of his head even under Ivan's heavy hand. Just a little twitch, but it was easy for Alfred to see that Ludwig was pleading with him not to shoot.

Goddammit.

He stared Ivan down again, tried to gather his will, because what Ludwig wanted in the end wasn't always what was best. It would be better to shoot Ivan and get it over with, as Gilbert had said.

Damn, this gun felt too heavy, though, knowing what damage it would cause should Alfred indeed fire. Knowing the kind of bullets that were hidden within.

Ivan just stared back at him, trying to cut him to shreds with his eyes, and then he leaned over Ludwig again, lowering his voice into a dangerous hiss, too low for Alfred to catch any words.

Ludwig squinted his eyes shut, and murmured something, and Alfred just couldn't understand why Ludwig kept on protecting this man.

A terrible, whining noise of pain from Ludwig, when Ivan twisted his arm farther yet. Couldn't stand hearing that from Ludwig, not stoic Ludwig, who never expressed anything. Hurt too much, hearing that, seein' him like that.

What to do—

How the hell had this even happened? Alfred had only been gone one minute, one damn minute, and Ludwig had clearly stepped outside to start the car and let it warm up. Had only let Ludwig out of his sights for a second.

Where had Ivan come from?

Alfred knew the perimeter of the house well enough by then, and just couldn't wrap his head around how Ivan had gotten past Gilbert's defenses.

The bastard had climbed the fence, had somehow scaled it, in spite of his heaviness, and Alfred was awe-struck by that. Musta been twelve feet high, that fence, and somehow Ivan had gotten over it without impaling himself. He had to have; he wasn't wet, so he hadn't swam over.

Incredible.

Seemed Ivan was capable of anything at all if it meant he could get to Ludwig.

Ivan slammed Ludwig into the car, another cry of pain, and Alfred knew it was time to do something. Couldn't stand here and let Ludwig's arm get broken because he was afraid of Ludwig being mad at him for a while.

Ludwig wasn't always right—

Alfred clamped his jaw, focused his eyes, braced his legs, steeled his courage and his will, and did what he needed to do.

He squeezed the trigger.

The sound of the discharge was loud, booming, a powerful blast from a powerful gun, and instantly at the sound Ludwig had cried out in horror. An awful, high-pitched sound, as Ludwig stood on the brink of losing what he loved.

No need for his distress that time, as Alfred held the gun up into the air.

He had fired into the sky to startle Ivan, to wrangle him, to bring him down to reality. Just couldn't bring himself to shoot Ivan in that second, because he didn't truly feel that Ludwig's life was on the line in that moment. Didn't feel that desperation, that despair, that hopelessness, and so Alfred had cast Gilbert and Toris aside.

Couldn't do it.

Not like this.

The threat of a broken arm wasn't a death sentence. Ivan was unarmed, to Alfred's sight and knowledge, and he couldn't shoot him then and keep any sense of honor. And Ludwig woulda died if Ivan had, would have utterly broken down, and Alfred wasn't ready for that. Could justify shooting Ivan to Ludwig in a life or death situation, yeah, but this was not that.

At the discharge, Ivan let Ludwig go, as he raised a hand to his temple with a hiss, turning to look over his shoulder at Alfred in fury. Looked offended somehow, the crazy son of a bitch, as if Alfred had wronged him or something, and he rubbed at the side of his head, wincing away. Like the loud noise had caused him physical pain. Must have been sensitive to loud noises, and Alfred would remember that.

Alfred aimed the gun again, this time right at that wide chest. If Ivan charged at him then, things changed.

Alfred took one hand off the gun and twitched his fingers repeatedly in the air, telling stunned Ludwig silently to get the hell back over to Alfred while Ivan was apparently incapacitated.

Ludwig stood still for just a second, a startled deer caught in headlights, and then he inhaled and bounded.

Remarkably, Ludwig did run over to Alfred, but he didn't leap behind Alfred for protection like Alfred had planned. Rather, the stupid son of a bitch ran straight at Alfred, nearly crashed into him, and placed his chest right on the barrel of Alfred's gun. He reached up, grabbed it, and implored, as Alfred stared above his shoulder in alarm at Ivan, " _Don't_! Alfred, please, please, don't, don't _shoot_ him—"

Alfred shook Ludwig off, pushed him aside far more forcefully than he normally would have, nearly knocked him over, because Ivan had lowered his hand and straightened up.

A rather terrifying stand off then, as Alfred aimed at Ivan and Ivan glared at him, face still scrunched in pain, and Ludwig kept on trying to grab Alfred's gun. Ludwig looked back and forth between Alfred and Ivan, clumsily uttering mindless pleas as he reached over and over again for the gun. No matter how hard Alfred knocked him aside, Ludwig kept coming back, and irritation was rising.

Was about to knock both of these bastards out.

Ivan wasn't moving though, didn't charge, and stood quite still, recovering from the apparent pain caused him by the blast. His pale eyes flitted between Alfred and Ludwig, and hell, it was kinda _funny_ , but Alfred swore that Ivan suddenly looked _upset_.

Hurt, even, as his brow crinkled and he swallowed.

Alfred knew then that Ivan _had_ been there that night in the alley after all, and had seen Alfred and Ludwig arm in arm. What Alfred had been nervous about had come to pass, and Ivan indeed had been made jealous.

Great.

Ivan's gaze lingered on Ludwig, and Alfred thought he might have seen a little betrayal written there on that crazy face. As if Ludwig had gone behind his back, cheated, as if Ivan were the victim.

Ludwig's bleary eyes, as he stared back at Ivan and tried so hard to express with his face alone that he still _loved_ Ivan.

But Ivan's eyes flitted down then to Ludwig's hand, and there was no ring there upon Ludwig's finger, even as Ivan's ever glinted in the pale light.

Before Ivan could fly into a rage again, Alfred acted. Without once removing his sights from Ivan, Alfred stepped over, shoving Ludwig behind him and walking them both back towards the gate. When Ludwig was close enough to it, Alfred addressed Ludwig.

Softly, he said, "Open the gate."

Was ready to get this bastard out of here.

Didn't wanna hear Gilbert's godawful meltdown when he found out about _this_ one, on his own property.

Ludwig's hands must have been shaking; Alfred heard the buzz of an incorrect code, and then again, before the beep and the sound of the metal opening up.

Ivan's brow had gotten ever lower, his jaw had clenched up, and in some way Ivan actually looked distraught then. Swear to god the bastard's eyes had gotten as bleary as Ludwig's, red and glistening, his lips pursed, and Ivan looked quite like he was either about to cry or implode.

Woulda liked to avoid either, thanks a bunch, and Alfred jerked his gun testily in the air to draw Ivan's gaze. When he had the whacko's attention, Alfred tilted his head towards the open gate, and said, with no room for argument, "Get the hell outta here."

A flash of anger on Ivan's face, and Alfred brace up for round two.

It didn't come, and Ivan sort of slumped a little, go figure, but Alfred didn't really think that it had anything to do with the gun, nor the fear of being shot. Ivan looked a little defeated, a little sad, and his eyes once more flitted down to Ludwig's bare hand.

But he took a step, and then another, stopping only to send Ludwig a mournful gaze in passing. Ludwig's awful inhale, shuddering and devastated, and then Ivan carried on and was outside. Alfred slammed his fist down on the button, and the gate creaked closed.

Ivan turned around, and stared at Ludwig through the bars.

Alfred relaxed just a little, at least until Ludwig darted forward and grabbed the iron in his hands, pressing up against the gate and staring back at Ivan. Looked like goddamn Juliet, alright, being forcibly separated from Romeo.

Pathetic.

Ludwig rested his forehead against the bars, gazing so longingly at Ivan that anyone would have thought they had been apart for decades. Ivan's face suddenly scrunched, he inhaled as sharply as Ludwig had, and took a step forward.

Alfred felt like an invisible spectator in some horrible, twisted bedtime story, some fairytale gone wrong, as these two damaged people mourned and longed for each other despite being the absolute worst thing for the other. Someone needed to remind Juliet here that Romeo had fallen off his rocker and was no longer safe.

Didn't want that tragic ending.

So Alfred reached out, grabbed the back of Ludwig's collar like he imagined Gilbert did, and hauled him back. Surprisingly, Ludwig offered absolutely no resistance, lax hands falling from the gate, and Alfred wondered if it was because dazed Ludwig assumed it was Gilbert. Obeying instantly out of instinct. Like scruffing a cat, maybe.

Alfred blocked Ludwig from view and pointed the gun once more at Ivan, through the bars, and commanded, "Get out."

That time, at long last, Ivan obeyed.

A turn of his heel, and he was gone.

When Ivan was out of sight, Alfred spat a curse and turned around, yanking Ludwig back over to the car to give him a proper inspection now that the danger had gone.

Hated what he saw, when he cleared his head and looked around.

The car had been a little banged up, as Ivan had used Ludwig as a living hammer against it. A dent in the door, on the hood. The windshield had a crack on it, and maybe that was why Ludwig's nose was bleeding, because he had been slammed against the glass. A small gash on the side of his forehead. Already, Alfred could see a bruise forming over Ludwig's sharp cheek and above his eye.

Alfred was furious about it, about his own failure, and so he took it out on Ludwig. He grabbed Ludwig's shoulders, shook him as brutally as Ivan had, and hissed, "What the fuck is the matter with you? Huh? Are you _stupid_? Are ya? Huh? Don't you ever get in front of my gun again! Ever!"

He reached up, to instinctively slap the dumb blond, but stopped himself at the last second, because he couldn't hit Ludwig.

Ivan had already done that for him.

Ludwig didn't say a word, and just stared at Alfred very passively. Apathetically. Ludwig had shut down a little bit, and was quite expressionless.

Alfred sighed, looked around in a daze, and all he could really think of to do then was to drag Ludwig back inside the house, take him to the kitchen, and clean the blood from his face and neck. Didn't know why. Just needed something to do before he went crazy, he figured, because Ludwig certainly wasn't bothered by the blood.

Ludwig's voice was as far away as his face, when he suddenly said, "We have to go. I'm going to be late."

Alfred scoffed, and meant to argue, but Ludwig was already walking to the car.

Like nothing at all had happened, and it was quite frightening, Ludwig's entirely mechanical voice and face. Sat down very calmly in the driver's side, waited patiently for Alfred to stomp over and get in, and drove without a single tremor. His hands were perfectly steady when he punched the gate code in this time.

Alfred ran a hand over his forehead, and prayed to god that Gilbert didn't fire him when he realized Alfred was hesitating to shoot on sight.

Ah, let the bastard fire him—he wasn't going anywhere. Would stay with Ludwig regardless.

Alfred watched Ludwig's eerily calm driving, at least until they ran into traffic.

When they were forced to a standstill in Manhattan traffic, that was when Ludwig's apathy started fading a little. His fingers tapped the steering wheel, impatiently, and he glanced several times per second at the clock.

Alfred was silent, waiting to see if Ludwig would break down or if he would successfully stand before Gilbert and meet his eyes despite the bruise. Waiting to see if Gilbert was going to finally throw Alfred through the window.

Minutes ticked by, and they had barely moved an inch.

Normally, this traffic was perfectly accounted for in Ludwig's immaculate time chart, but not this time. A delay had been caused by Ivan, and the clock was ticking, alright. With every second that passed, Ludwig was coming out of his coma, and right into panic. Alfred could see the steady dilation of his pupils, the flaring of his nostrils, the pursing of his lips, and his compulsive swallowing.

Another minute, and then Ludwig very abruptly collapsed.

Out of nowhere, Ludwig was suddenly breathing through his mouth, faster and faster with each second, and Alfred soon realized he was hyperventilating.

A panic attack?

Ludwig threw the car jerkily in park, slammed his palms down on the steering wheel, and cried, in nearly a whine, " _Oh_ —! I'm going to be _late_!"

Late, and Alfred knew what being late would mean, and that was why Ludwig was utterly panicking.

Breaking down, alright.

He was absolutely panting by then, furiously, and Alfred reached out, grabbed Ludwig's chin, forced his gaze, and demanded, "Stop. Breathe. Just stop thinking about it. Stop."

But Ludwig couldn't seem to stop, breathing faster and faster, eyes wide and red and glistening, brow crinkled and pulse pounding. He stared at Alfred, helplessly, and Alfred let him go and brusquely opened the car door right there in the traffic. He stalked around to the driver's side, opened it, and barked, "Get over."

Ludwig scooted over as best he could as Alfred took the wheel, the cars behind him blaring their horns, and when Alfred put the car in drive, it was to abruptly jerk his way out of line and make a very aggressive U-turn.

Ludwig sat up straight, and shrieked, "What are you doing?"

"Taking you home," Alfred said, as sternly and loudly as he could, but Ludwig's panic only intensified.

Too much for him, the encounter with Ivan and then topped off by the deathly fear of being held by Gilbert atop that glass floor.

Unexpectedly, Ludwig burst into tears, buried his face in his palms, and whined, " _Please_ — Please, please, _please_ , don't make me late, Alfred, please turn around, _please_ —"

He couldn't speak after that, as the panic attack closed his throat up.

Alfred pulled out his phone, and called the miserable son of a bitch that Ludwig called brother.

Gilbert answered immediately, as expected, shouting, _"What's happened? What is it? Where is Ludwig?"_

Ludwig drew his legs up at the sound of Gilbert's voice, huddled into a ball there in the car seat, buried his head down into his knees, and clenched his hair in his hands as he panted for air. Alfred had never seen a panic attack in person, and it was terrifying. Seeing Ludwig like that—

Alfred gripped the phone so tightly that it creaked, and he replied, stiffly, "He's here. He's fine. We're not coming into the office. Don't wait for us."

Gilbert cried, furiously, _"Did you_ shoot _him? Did you? Huh?"_

Alfred spat, "No!" and hung up the phone.

Asshole.

That was the worst ride, it was, taking Ludwig home as he huddled up there and bawled his eyes out, unable to breathe and outwardly collapsing. Alfred felt so helpless. Didn't know what to do to help, because he had never experienced this before. Didn't know what to do, and so could do nothing except get Ludwig home as quickly as he could.

It must have been humiliating for Ludwig, to pull into that parking garage and to step out there in front of those men, bawling and panting as he was, and Alfred quickly grabbed his arm and all but dragged him down the street, avoiding their looks of concern.

Ludwig's house had never looked so good.

When they stepped inside, Ludwig immediately stumbled into the kitchen, no doubt for a bottle of wine, as Alfred made a very quick run of the house to make sure Ivan hadn't somehow beaten them back and snuck inside. He felt violated and vulnerable at this intrusion, and Ludwig must have felt that a thousand times worse. But the house was secure, and when Alfred trudged into the kitchen, Ludwig had indeed gone for a bottle of wine. He was sitting on the floor, though, tucked up in the corner of the cabinets, knees up and bottle in hand. Wasn't even using a glass this time, just lifting the bottle straight to his lips.

His hands were shaking.

Alfred stood there above him, and watched over him rather sadly.

What else could he do? Didn't know what to say.

He could feel his phone buzzing endlessly in his pocket, no doubt by both Gilbert and Toris going into panic mode at the lack of information. Alfred was in no rush to speak, and ignored them.

Just watched Ludwig annihilate that bottle, sniveling as he was, and hated that the bruise was already darker. Looked so pitiful, then, hair sticking out everywhere and eyes puffy, disheveled and out of sorts, and Alfred finally came over and plopped gracelessly down on the floor beside of Ludwig. Ludwig looked over at him, face miserable, and Alfred reached out and threw his arm over Ludwig's shoulder.

A short crumple of Ludwig's face, before he twisted at the side and pressed his forehead into Alfred's collar.

Alfred let him cry it out there for a little while, and stayed ever silent.

Must have been a good half hour of crying, before Ludwig pulled back, grunted, "Thanks," and then finished off the bottle in a few long chugs. When Ludwig pulled himself clumsily to his feet, Alfred followed him, but Ludwig didn't go for another bottle of wine. Rather, he pulled out what was left of the scotch Alfred hadn't finished on Christmas, and asked, "Do you mind?"

Alfred shook his head, and Ludwig quickly annihilated it as skillfully as the wine.

Goddamn.

Shoulda stopped him, maybe, but just felt too bad for him.

When Ludwig staggered over and threw himself down at the kitchen table, Alfred sat down in front of him, and finally spoke up.

"Promise me you won't ever get in front of my gun again. I'm supposed to protect you. You need to do what I tell you. You have to listen to me, understand? You're gonna get yourself killed. You ever think about how _other_ people feel, huh? How you think the rest of us will feel if you do something stupid? How do you think I'll—"

He trailed off, lowered his eyes, and scoffed.

Almost said, 'How do you think I'll feel, if I let someone else I care about die?'

Ludwig wasn't the only person hurting, but couldn't see anything that wasn't Ivan.

A long silence, and then Ludwig at last went for a second bottle of wine, without ever once submitting to Alfred's demand. Didn't give his word, gave Alfred nothing at all, and Alfred sighed as Ludwig began working on the second bottle. Alfred let him, but just wouldn't allow him to take a pill tonight. Could drink himself into a stupor if he wanted, if that was what he needed to do, but he would suffer later on when he couldn't get his hands on his medication. Alfred would break his fingers if he had to, if Ludwig tried it.

Hours passed. The sun set.

Alfred finally glanced at his phone, and deleted the mass of texts from Gilbert and Toris without even reading them. Later. He just couldn't now, couldn't, wasn't in the mood.

Ludwig was ignoring his own phone as skillfully.

Alfred assumed there would be no dinner tonight, because Ludwig was absolutely hammered by then, and so he stood up and went very quickly to the bathroom, and tried to calm himself. A wash of his face, a pep talk in the mirror. Didn't work. He failed, and went to commandeer the kitchen, as best he could. Bread and scrambled eggs for dinner never killed anybody.

Ludwig didn't eat.

Just stared at Alfred quite strangely.

Long minutes passed, a half hour, and then at last Ludwig lifted his head and spoke.

"Hey."

A strange, slanted smile from Ludwig, more unnerving than it was pretty.

"Ya think I could call Ivan? Just for a minute. Just a minute. Can I just call him for a minute? I just wanna hear his voice, just for a minute."

Alfred crinkled his brow in concern, felt a little uneasy, because Ludwig had suddenly started slurring. His speech was muddled, hard to understand. Disjointed and mixed up. It wasn't normal, because Ludwig was drunk but not _that_ far gone.

Oh no—

Alfred noticed then how dilated Ludwig's pupils were, absolutely engulfed his irises, and Alfred suddenly understood—Ludwig had taken the sleeping pills, who knew how many, when Alfred had gone to the bathroom. Had been shaken up, distraught, and had tried to calm himself.

Had just taken too much this time, too much, and it was clear to see suddenly.

Shoulda known by now that he only needed to be absent for one minute for everything to go wrong.

Alfred jumped up, bolted over to Ludwig, yanked him upright and grabbed him to hold him steady, hissing, "What did you _do_? Huh? What did you do?"

Ludwig looked up blearily, struggling to find Alfred, and he was barely comprehensible when he slurred, "It's nothin'—I just took a few extra, was all. I just wanna go to sleep. Wanna forget. Can't I call him? Please? One more time. I just—"

Ludwig collapsed very abruptly in Alfred's arms, and Alfred didn't know what to do except pick him up in panic and stumble over to set him down on the couch. He ran back to the cabinet, took down the bottle, which mercifully was not empty thank god, studied the label furiously, but it didn't really help much beyond the obvious.

'Do not mix with alcohol.' Yeah, no fuckin' _shit_ , thanks a lot!

What did he need to do?

He stalked back into the living room, and his intention then was to forcibly drag Ludwig into the bathroom, put him before the toilet, and force him to throw up.

Didn't get to.

When he came back, only a minute later, Ludwig was already entirely unconscious. Alfred skidded over to him, grabbed his shoulders, and gave him a good shake, calling his name. No response, none whatsoever, and it was very clear why :

Ludwig had overdosed.

His breathing was erratic, shallow. Faint.

Panic.

What did he do? Didn't know what to do, didn't know, was all alone here and was so scared to call anyone, to alert Gilbert and Toris. What woulda been worse to Gilbert's reputation? His little brother being in the news for being battered or for being in the hospital because of an overdose? Gilbert had smothered everything, always, because their image came before all else. Ludwig being drugged up wouldn't go over well, not at all, and Gilbert would have had Alfred's ass.

Reputations—

In a daze, red-faced and terrified, Alfred fumbled around for his phone, pulled it out, and dialed Lovino, because he didn't know what else to _do_.

The call was answered immediately, and Lovino didn't even finish saying 'Hello' before Alfred was screaming at him, in a thin, high voice he didn't recognize.

"I need help! He's not breathing right, he ain't, I think he took too much! What do I do? Tell me what to do!"

Lovino didn't really seem to need much more explanation, seemed to grasp immediately what Alfred meant, and barked, _"I'm on my way. Put him on a hard floor, roll his head to the side, make sure he keeps breathing—"_

Alfred dropped the phone, grabbed unconscious Ludwig up into his arms again, and darted back into the kitchen, the biggest hard floor available, and did as he was instructed.

Ludwig was white as a sheet, yellowish, and his lips had tinged a bit blue. Breathing so slowly and unevenly that Alfred was terrified it was going to stop at any second.

Awful minutes, those that he knelt there next to Ludwig, scared and lost and awaiting aid.

He had fucked up everything possible today.

Not even ten minutes later aid arrived, with loud banging on the door. Alfred skidded over, terrorized and panicked, and yanked open the door without even looking, knowing how stupid that was.

Didn't care—just didn't want Ludwig to _die_.

Lovino and Feliciano came bursting in, clearly having torn up the city streets in their rush to get here, dressed in house clothes and looking very ruffled. Didn't even have coats on, and Feliciano was wearing house slippers. Lovino had no shoes at all, in only his socks. They looked quite frightening then, to be honest, pumped up on adrenaline as they were and ready for business. Could see why Gilbert had hired them, in that moment.

Alfred bolted to the kitchen to show them, and they took over quite capably.

They skidded onto their knees, Lovino grabbed Ludwig's jaw and leaned in, and Feliciano asked, hectically, "How many did he take?"

"I don't know—"

"The whole bottle?"

"No," Alfred managed, voice still high-pitched. "No. There's still plenty in there. I don't know how many he took. He said a few."

A few.

Lovino hissed a curse, but Ludwig was still breathing, and Lovino plunged his hand into his pocket and pulled out a syringe. Alfred's panic ever heightened. Didn't know what it was, what they were doing.

When it came to drugs, Alfred's experiences had never been positive.

Feliciano rolled Ludwig onto his side as Lovino uncapped the syringe with his teeth, pulling down the hem of Ludwig's pants as Alfred fretted and panicked. Lovino jabbed the syringe quickly into Ludwig's thigh, pushed the plunger, and Feliciano kept Ludwig's chin tilted up with his hand.

Alfred started pacing, frantically, running a hand compulsively through his hair and breathing through his mouth as Lovino and Feliciano muttered to each other in Italian.

Oh, Ludwig, the stupid son of a bitch—

Feliciano's fingers pressed into Ludwig's neck, above his pulse, and there they stayed for the next fifteen minutes, as Lovino slapped Ludwig's cheek gently and called his name and tried to bring him around into consciousness. Ludwig was so pale, so pale, lips and fingertips still tinted the faintest shade of blue.

Couldn't let anything happen to him, Alfred had sworn to protect this idiot from everyone, including himself, and had already fucked up, hadn't even been four damn months.

Stupid.

Every time Feliciano cursed and then roughly massaged Ludwig's throat to stimulate him, Alfred felt his heart stop.

Absolutely nerve-fraying minutes.

An hour or so later, with Lovino's relentless jostling and Feliciano's constant vigil of Ludwig's pulse and breathing, there was finally something positive; Ludwig inhaled, deeply, and there was a deep moan from within his chest.

Coming around.

Feliciano cracked a jittery smile, looked up at his brother, who looked stern as ever but blew air through his teeth in what was obviously relief.

It was the world that would burn, in the end, if Gilbert lost Ludwig. Everyone's ass was on the line.

Restless minutes later, after more groans and moans, and Ludwig finally opened his eyes, just a crack. Wasn't lucid, though, wasn't really conscious, staring straight ahead at nothing and pupils so dilated that his eyes were nearly black.

Alfred knelt down there, reached out and placed a hand on Ludwig's shoulder.

Drugged and dazed and lost, Ludwig just stared ahead, breathing through his mouth, and then uttered, breathlessly and barely audibly, "Ivan?"

A pang of hurt.

Feliciano's hand ran over Ludwig's neck, as Lovino softly called his name and tried to keep him conscious. It must have been a good sign, though, Ludwig being awake at all, and the brothers looked a little less frightening as they calmed down.

Alfred must have zoned out for a while in his fright, too overwhelmed to focus, because the next thing he knew Ludwig was in his bed and Alfred was sitting on the couch, and it was his cheek that Lovino was suddenly slapping.

A snap of fingers in his face.

"Hey! Focus!"

He did, barely, and looked up.

Lovino held out a few syringes, and Alfred took them automatically.

"Keep these," Lovino commanded. "Put in 'em in your room or something. This is emergency only, got it? But if he takes the whole bottle this won't work."

"You'll have to take him to the hospital if he takes the whole bottle," Feliciano interjected, crankily.

Alfred looked dumbly back and forth between them, and asked, "What is this?"

"Naloxone. Keeps you breathing when you overdose. We, ah, got a cousin with a bad habit. Put it in his thigh, just like I did. Alright? And call. Always, call us."

Alfred nodded, silently, and they clapped his shoulder and vanished.

He stumbled over to the door, locked it, looked around as he felt very lost, and then Alfred followed where his feet led. For the first time, he stepped inside Ludwig's bedroom, and collapsed fully clothed onto Ludwig's bed as Ludwig lied there unconscious.

He rolled over, threw an arm over Ludwig, and pulled him in.

Alfred didn't sleep, not for a second. Couldn't. Too terrified, too scared, too anxious, and so he stayed awake all night, holding Ludwig up against his chest so that he would know immediately if he stopped breathing.

He just stared over Ludwig's pale hair at the wall, and felt like a failure.

In all aspects.

Oh, Ludwig—why had he done that? Why did he mourn Ivan so? Didn't he see Alfred here? Why didn't Ludwig know that Alfred would have done anything for him? Ivan had won Ludwig's loyalty by holding him to no standards aside from those of love; was Ludwig so blind to the fact that Alfred was doing the same?

Maybe Ludwig didn't like what he saw there in Alfred's reflection, either.

That night was the longest Alfred had known for a long time.


	16. Into the Cosmos

**Chapter 16**

**Into the Cosmos**

Ludwig was so quiet.

Alfred knew that it wasn't because he was traumatized, frightened—Ludwig had just seen Ivan, and it had brought back to the forefront every single one of those powerful emotions that Alfred had tried to distract Ludwig from.

Alfred was falling in love with Ludwig, slowly but surely, and was trying desperately to make Ludwig fall in love with him in turn, to turn him from Ivan. Alfred wanted to be the victor, wanted to beat Ivan, he did, and it wasn't easy because Ludwig was so focused on Ivan that sometimes it seemed like he just didn't really take Alfred so seriously.

Ludwig hadn't come back into consciousness until well into Wednesday afternoon. He had an unpleasant surprise waiting for him when he cracked open his eyes.

Gilbert.

At six in the morning, sharp, there had been loud knocking on the door. Banging, as furious as Lovino's the night prior, and Alfred had rolled out of bed so quickly that he fell on the floor and hit his head on the nightstand.

When he looked through the peephole, it wasn't Ivan.

Was almost as bad, though, and Alfred had taken a deep breath for courage before he finally yanked open the door.

The first thing Alfred saw was a flash of white, as Gilbert's very pale knuckles came flying right at his face. Then dots of light, because Gilbert was stronger than Ludwig and punched even harder. Alfred came out of his daze, but didn't punch Gilbert back, because for one thing, Gilbert was his boss, and for another, Alfred had had that coming.

He had fucked up, and earned that punch.

But it became apparent that Gilbert had more than a punch in mind, because he suddenly lunged forward, and Alfred was pretty sure he saw his life flash before his eyes when Gilbert obviously meant to either pummel him or strangle him to death.

Another blur, this one much darker, as Toris suddenly came outta nowhere and snatched Gilbert by the collar and sleeve, hauling him back so forcefully that Gilbert fell backwards onto his ass there on the threshold of Ludwig's front door.

Gilbert was too angry to speak, apparently, glaring away at Alfred as Toris leaned down and murmured in his ear. Alfred was too tired to even lift his hand, and just stared down at Gilbert as Gilbert tried and failed to assassinate him with his terrifying eyes. It was pretty clear to Alfred in that moment, however, that Toris was actually the one very much in charge, having effectively put Gilbert down yet again with merely a few murmurs.

Alfred understood, because at the snap of Ludwig's fingers he woulda done anything.

Toris grabbed Gilbert's arm, hauled him upright, and Alfred's life no longer seemed in danger.

His job, however...

It was Toris who spoke then, as Gilbert composed himself, coming forward and putting himself nearly nose to nose with Alfred.

"When we call you, you answer. Always. Understand? Don't you ever ignore us again. Now. What happened? Where is Ludwig?"

Toris' condescending face wasn't so condescending then. It was very stoic, very blank, very tense, and Alfred could see how furious Toris was in that moment just by how much effort he was giving to keep his composure. A crease in his forehead, the pursing of his lips, the flaring of his nostrils; ah, yes, Toris was livid.

Alfred merely raised his hand and jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the bedroom, and Gilbert immediately rushed towards it as Toris stared Alfred down.

Alfred meant to follow violent Gilbert to keep him from shaking the life out of Ludwig in effort to wake him, but was stopped when Toris grabbed his arm.

"Hey! What happened? Report. Now."

Exhausted and too damn sad to argue and fight, Alfred just exhaled, and dutifully reported to Toris the events of the day prior. What else could he do? Alfred did omit the overdose, to a degree, and certainly omitted Lovino and Feliciano saving everyone's ass.

But, oh, that horrible look on Toris' face. Anger and fear and sadness and everything else, given away only by the slightest of twitches.

Alfred escaped Toris to go to the bedroom, because although Toris seemed a much better moderator, it was Alfred who was supposed to keep Ludwig safe.

When Alfred pushed the door open, what he saw wasn't exactly what he had expected.

Gilbert wasn't trying to throttle the life out of Ludwig to wake him. Rather, Gilbert was sitting on the bed fully, legs underneath him, and Alfred was quite shocked to see Gilbert resting a hand on the top of Ludwig's hair and murmuring to him, leaning so far down over him that Gilbert's nose nearly bumped into Ludwig's head.

Hm.

Toris came in right behind Alfred, and oh, man, was Alfred ever glad that he wasn't Ludwig, when Toris and Gilbert hunkered down there on his bed and waited for him to wake up.

As fascinating as it was to see Gilbert being gentle, Alfred went to the kitchen and rested himself at the table, putting his head on folded arms and falling asleep.

It was around two in the afternoon when Ludwig finally regained consciousness.

Alfred only knew he was awake because he could hear Gilbert and Toris finally speaking, and he crept over to the bedroom to crack open the door and poke his head in. Ludwig was awake, alright, sitting up at the waist and head hanging utterly limp beneath him, staring down at the blanket. He couldn't see Ludwig's eyes, and didn't know how lucid he was, as Gilbert and Toris spoke sternly, endlessly, sharply. In German, naturally, but Alfred was pretty happy about that. Didn't wanna know what the hell they were saying to poor Ludwig.

All gentleness had fled Gilbert now that Ludwig was awake, and he once more looked terrifying.

Was Gilbert afraid to let Ludwig know exactly how much he loved him? Alfred doubted that Ludwig had ever seen Gilbert being gentle.

Every so often, during the endless lecture and berating, there was a low, rumbling mutter, scratchy and rough, coming from Ludwig's chest. Ludwig's voice was even deeper in German, but this wasn't really how Alfred ever wanted to hear it.

Three straight hours Toris and Gilbert berated Ludwig into the dirt, and then Gilbert stood up jerkily and stalked out of the room. Toris lingered, and stayed only long enough to tend the small gash on Ludwig's forehead, before he too vanished.

The front door slammed.

Ludwig sat there in bed, head still hanging down so far and limply that it would have been easy to believe his neck had been broken. Didn't move a muscle, even when Alfred came over and sat down beside of him. Ludwig didn't look up, and didn't speak.

All night.

Alfred brought food into the bedroom and tried to coax Ludwig to eat, but wasn't that successful.

For his part, Alfred was rather stunned he hadn't been fired, despite the earful he had received from Toris during their conversation. Toris did insinuate, however, that if Alfred 'couldn't shoot, then we'll find someone who will.'

Didn't want that, because he didn't want anyone else in charge of Ludwig.

Come Thursday morning, Alfred assumed he would be sleeping in. Thought for sure Ludwig wouldn't be working, not now, not after that. Next week, maybe, but not today. Wrong; Ludwig was awake at dawn, and Alfred was astounded to see him getting ready for work. No breakfast, no coffee. Ludwig just stumbled about in a daze, hardly functional, and Alfred hovered over him to make sure he didn't suddenly collapse.

Alfred asked, "Shouldn't you rest?"

Ludwig just shook his head.

Gilbert probably expected Ludwig to work, and so that was what Ludwig would do, even as his heart and spirit broke. Alfred stayed all day in the office that time, and Friday, too, just in case Gilbert tried to drag Ludwig over the glass.

He never did.

After work, Ludwig came home, threw himself on the couch, and there he stayed, all night. Alfred slept on the floor beneath him, because he didn't want to be far away.

Ludwig hadn't spoken one single word. He merely stared at the door, the window, lost up in his head, and Alfred didn't know what was so different this time, what had pushed Ludwig over the edge. Maybe everything had felt so hopeless, had piled up, and maybe Ludwig befriending Alfred had had something to do with it. Perhaps being more intimate with Alfred had made it clearer to Ludwig that he was never going to be able to call Ivan 'his' again, and seeing him like that had been a step too far.

The gate closing on Ivan had, perhaps, been quite metaphorical to Ludwig.

Alfred tried to keep the ship from listing, and made pitiful attempts at making dinner in Ludwig's stead. He tried his best, honest to god he did, and since he couldn't get Ludwig to come to the kitchen table, he brought the plate to Ludwig, pulled him forcibly upright, and sat beside of him. He ate slowly, quietly, making sure that Ludwig followed suit.

Ludwig did, but had yet to speak.

Alfred had taken the sleeping pills and put them in his room, and became Ludwig's distributor of sorts. He took a pill, broke it in half, and that was all he would let Ludwig have. Ludwig was too lethargic and apathetic to argue, still in that daze.

On Saturday, when Ludwig had been lying on the couch for three straight days, Alfred finally cracked and came up to him, knelt down on the floor, and reached out to take Ludwig's hand within his own.

At the touch, Ludwig lifted his eyes.

Alfred stared at him for a while, and then asked, quietly, "Did you do it on purpose?"

Ludwig would understand what Alfred meant. 'Did you really just want to sleep, or did you want to kill yourself?'

Ludwig's pretty eyes ran over Alfred's face, and it was a long time before Ludwig murmured, simply, "I don't know."

Alfred believed him.

That was all they spoke that night, and Alfred once more slept on the floor beneath Ludwig.

Morning came. Sunday.

Valentine's Day.

All of Alfred's plans had been blown out of the water, and instead of the excitement he had anticipated feeling, Alfred just sat up in the pale morning sun, sore from the floor, and looked up at Ludwig sleeping away on the couch. Only his messy hair was visible, burrowed away under the blanket as he was, trying to escape reality.

As Alfred came out of the lethargy of sleep, he looked around, and felt so _sad_ suddenly.

Defeated.

Everything seemed so hopeless sometimes, and that was one of those moments where Alfred looked at his surroundings and thought, morosely, 'What's the point?'

What was the point, of any of this? Why was he even bothering? Nothing ever worked out right for him, and the world was never fair. Bad things happened to good people, always did, and Ludwig knew it, too. That was why he had tiptoed into the dark water and took a few extra pills, perhaps hopefully.

The sun broke out suddenly from behind the winter clouds, in a rare moment.

A glint of light.

Alfred followed it with his eyes, as Ludwig's pale hair lit up in shades of white and gold in the sun.

Like a lighthouse.

Everything around was dull, dreary, dark, but Ludwig's hair caught the sun then, and Alfred refocused.

No point in anything, maybe, but there never was, and a man only ever did his best in the world. That was what Alfred had always done, and figured he may as well keep going that route until he died. Ludwig was the same; he kept on working, kept on trying, even as everything in him just wanted to stop.

Couldn't stop.

So Alfred inhaled, came to, and pulled himself up to his feet.

He had nothing. His plans had vanished. Hadn't bought any flowers, candles, anything at all, but who the hell cared?

One summer, when their birthdays had been forgotten, Alfred had scooped up a little jar of fireflies for a present, and she had been over the moon with it. Ludwig seemed just as simple, at the emotional level at least.

Making something out of nothing had long since been one of Alfred's greatest skills.

As Ludwig slept away lethargically on the couch, Alfred walked about the house, gathering his bearings. His mind was whirring, trying to come up with something worthwhile. During his walk, he found a few sheets of paper, pens in various colors, a couple of little candles, and some tape.

Well. Coulda been worse.

Alfred sat down at the kitchen table, and set to work, glancing over every so often towards the couch to see if Ludwig had woken up. Or, rather, if Ludwig was getting up. It was very likely that Ludwig was awake under that blanket, but was merely borrowing away in a comatose state.

An hour and a half or so later, when it was as good as it would get, Alfred made coffee, hoping the smell would stimulate Ludwig into pushing through another routine day.

It did, and Alfred had just filled his mug and sat down when Ludwig finally stirred.

Alfred held his breath, and watched from the corner of his eye as Ludwig sat up, the blanket falling down to his lap. A long, dazed look around, as Ludwig's dirty hair stuck up to high heaven, the circles under his eyes visible even from a distance. The glint of stubble on his cheeks in the pale sun. The utter blankness there. Ludwig was always guarded and stoic, but this was different. These past few days, Alfred had seen Ludwig being completely devoid of emotion, because he had entirely shut down. This wasn't a mask, wasn't Ludwig controlling himself.

There was just nothing there at all to express, as apathy and depression took over.

Ludwig's survival instincts kept him moving then, and Alfred watched as he rolled clumsily off of the couch and came mechanically into the kitchen. One step, and another, and then Ludwig was pouring a mug of coffee, entirely led by muscle memory.

Alfred watched him silently, waiting to see if Ludwig would even notice.

Ludwig sat down, coffee in front of him, and stared blankly at Alfred's chest. Alfred sipped away and counted the minutes, as Ludwig passed in and out of lucidity.

It took forty-seven minutes, precisely, before Ludwig lifted his tired eyes from Alfred's chest. By then, his coffee must have been ice cold, but he raised it to his lips anyway, and that was when Ludwig finally seemed to notice something amiss.

A slow, confused look around. The mug steadily lowered, as Ludwig's lips parted and he sat up a little straighter. Ludwig's eyes fell down to the table, where the little candles sat, surrounded in a mass of multicolored paper flowers formed into the shape of a heart. His eyes flitted back up, left and right, and no doubt he was noticing the little colored hearts cut out and taped to the cabinets and walls.

It was something a kid in elementary school would have done, absolutely, but Alfred was still kind of a kid at heart, and Ludwig had never been a child so maybe this would illicit some sort of forgotten emotions.

Perhaps it did; Ludwig's eyes seemed to clear up, brighten, as he came back to alertness and awareness.

And hey; those paper flowers actually turned out kinda nice, if he did say so himself. The internet had helped. A lot.

At last, Ludwig's pale eyes turned to Alfred. Alfred held his gaze, chin resting in his palm, and when he finally had Ludwig's attention, for the first time in days, Alfred smiled and said, gruffly, "Happy Valentine's Day."

Just like when Alfred had shoved the flowers in Ludwig's face for Christmas, Ludwig once more stared at Alfred as if he had materialized there before him in clear defiance of the laws of physics Ludwig held so dear.

Speechless and immobile, Ludwig just stared away at Alfred, and swallowed a few times, as he seemed to be figuring out which emotion he was feeling and if it was good or bad. Ludwig was still a little stuck in the mud, so Alfred had to take charge, as usual.

He stood up, came over, and leaned over Ludwig to whisper, "Tonight, we're going to have a house-date. Alright?"

Ludwig looked stupefied.

He took Ludwig's hand, hauled him to his feet, came far too close to his face, and murmured, "Say—clean up, won't ya? You're a mess. I don't want my date lookin' like I forced him to be there."

Ludwig gawked at him, but then suddenly snorted, and then, god, he _smiled_ , and that was wonderful.

Had him back, at long last, and never wanted to let him go. He kept hold of Ludwig's hand, and walked him to the bathroom, shoving him gently in. The sound of the running water shortly after was great, as Ludwig woke up and came back to the world from space.

Alfred smiled away as he waited, and felt that stupid twinge of hope yet again, despite knowing that it was always eventually snuffed out.

When Ludwig came back out, cleanly shaved and hair washed, dried messily and hanging in his eyes, Alfred straightened up and stared. Couldn't put his finger on it, like so much else, but something about Ludwig then seemed quite beautiful to him. Maybe because he had been gone for a while, and therefore he seemed brighter to Alfred's eyes.

Ludwig fidgeted under his gaze, and finally asked, "What?"

Alfred shook his head, and instead teased, "Can you make breakfast please? I'm dyin' here without your cooking. We both know I can't cook for shit."

Ludwig scoffed, but obeyed, and Alfred once more thought that Ludwig sauntered a little as he made his way into the kitchen.

Alfred was very handsy with him that time, hovering over Ludwig as he cooked and very frequently resting his hand on Ludwig's back and keeping it there. Was pretty sure Ludwig didn't mind, given that he seemed to lean back into Alfred's palm with every instance.

Ludwig couldn't seem to stop glancing over at Alfred, nor could he seem to stop smiling, and they made conversation at the table quite easily, as if nothing had ever happened. But then, Alfred had seen how quickly Ludwig was able to pretend that nothing was wrong, that nothing odd had occurred.

When the sun was low, Ludwig made dinner (thank you Jesus) and Alfred was the one to pull out a bottle of wine that time. He didn't care much for it, no, but it was all they had, and it was supposed to be more romantic. Ludwig did seem surprised when Alfred poured himself a glass and started drinking before Ludwig had finished cooking. Content enough to get his own, though, and by the time dinner was finished they had polished off a bottle each.

A clumsy relocation to the living room, and that time when Alfred plopped himself down on the couch, Ludwig didn't sit on the opposite end; he sat down right beside of Alfred, and Alfred was very quick to hunch over and press their shoulders together.

Chatting with Ludwig was fun, but drunk-chatting with him was better.

Alfred was obnoxious on a good day, but when he was drunk he was a little more than unbearable. Ludwig never seemed to mind, smiling yet as he held his glass and leaned against Alfred's shoulder.

At one point, Alfred teased, "Don't ever do that to me again. D'ya know how much I hated eating eggs every day? Ya had gotten me all spoiled."

Ludwig rammed his shoulder, playfully, and offered, "Well, then! I can teach you to cook. Even a mule can learn some tricks."

Jackass!

In his intoxication, Alfred slipped up, and when he meant to say to Ludwig, 'I can't', he ended up spouting, "I cain't!"

Instant mortification, even with how tipsy he was, at letting that damn twang come back out.

But equally tipsy Ludwig just snorted, getting wine up his nose, he coughed a bit, and asked, eagerly, "What did you say? Cain't? Is that a word?"

Embarrassed and self-conscious, Alfred just tried to wave it off, and distract Ludwig. It didn't work that time, and it was somehow humiliating when Ludwig chuckled to himself, "I cain't."

Alfred decided the only way to distract Ludwig was physically, and so he finished his glass off, took Ludwig's from his hand and set it aside, and then he pounced on Ludwig, wrangling him quite aggressively and hauling him over. Drunken shifting, shuffling, awkward positioning, and when drunk Alfred and drunker Ludwig were finally settled on the couch, it was with Alfred upright, leaning on the arm, and Ludwig was splayed out across his chest, halfway atop him and held up by Alfred's arms.

Drunk, yeah. That was why Alfred had tackled Ludwig into this embrace, because he was drunk. That was all. Just being handsy because that was how drunk men were. Yup.

When they were settled well in that very intimate manner that would have sent Gilbert into a rage meltdown had he seen it, Ludwig suddenly snorted, and whispered, "When you get drunk, your accent comes out. Like mine. I like it."

...liked it? Really?

No one had ever said that before.

Alfred had worked so hard to get rid of it because people laughed at him up here. No one had ever heard him speak and said they liked his accent.

For once, Alfred didn't know how to handle a compliment, and so merely grunted, "Hm!"

Strange.

They lied there for a long time, breathing deeply, and Alfred lowered his head from time to time so that his nose buried in Ludwig's hair. Hard to breathe, and he didn't know if it was from the alcohol or Ludwig's presence or the damn noose Gilbert was going to place over his neck if he ever found out how Alfred felt.

Out of nowhere, Ludwig squirmed in his arms, rolled around until his head was on Alfred's lap and he was looking up at him, and Alfred was quick to place one hand on his chest and the other on his hair to keep him there.

A bleary meeting of eyes, and Ludwig whispered, in that thrilling rumble, "Can I tell you something?"

Dumbly, Alfred nodded.

Ludwig stared at him for a long while, before he offered, so quietly, "When I left the hospital... It felt like the end of the world, so I drank a whole bottle of wine, for the first time. I took a pill. And then I went to bed, and I realized that it was _my_ bed, now. Just mine, you know? So I got up and took one more pill. I was hoping... But I woke up in the morning. I was kinda disappointed."

Alfred's brow crinkled as he looked down at Ludwig, who was still smiling even though he was admitting to something so terrible.

"I did it every night after that, but I just kept waking up. I always hoped one night I'd just stop breathing. It's just... Gilbert's reputation is everything. Everything. So long I've done everything I can to reflect him, so I can't just go out to the bridge and jump off. I can't take the whole bottle. I can't kill myself, because Gilbert's reputation would suffer. So I thought, you know, if I just... If it were an accident, no one would talk. Gilbert's reputation would be fine, if it were just an accident. I never took the whole bottle, for Gilbert. But one time I woke up late. Gilbert came looking for me, like always. I told him I accidentally took an extra pill. He didn't believe me. I can't ever lie to him. He can tell when I'm lying right off. So he made Feliciano and Lovino take turns staying here and watching over me. I felt so dumb. Like a child. One night, when Feliciano was here, I don't know— Everything just— I don't why I did it. I took more than a few when Feliciano wasn't looking. I thought that would be the end of it. But it wasn't. Feliciano and Lovino saved me. But they didn't tell Gilbert. After a while, Gilbert thought it was alright and let me be alone. I promised Feliciano that I would never do that again. I didn't mean to lie. I just couldn't think of a good reason not to, you know?"

Yeah.

He did know, because finding reasons not to could sometimes seem impossible.

Alfred understood at last why Feliciano and Lovino stopped Alfred every time and asked him how everything was going. Why they were so nosy. Why they had told Alfred to call them. 'Something Gilbert doesn't need to know about.' Right.

Ludwig stared up at him, and Alfred knew that Ludwig wanted to tell someone who wouldn't berate him, someone who wouldn't be disappointed in him, and so even though it hurt to hear Alfred didn't lecture Ludwig. Probably should have, but how could he ever do that with a straight face, with all of the thoughts he had had over the years? And then thinking about adding onto that the immense amount of pressure and expectations Ludwig had? Nah; Alfred woulda swan-dived off the bridge years back.

So Alfred finally spoke up, and said, "I like you. Isn't that a good reason?"

Ludwig hadn't ever really noticed him.

A crinkle of Ludwig's brow. A passing of shadow.

Ludwig suddenly squirmed out of Alfred's arms, sat up straight, and then stood. Alfred leapt up after him to balance him, hand on Ludwig's back, and Ludwig asked, "May I have my pill?"

Alfred hesitated, for just a moment, before he made up his mind.

No.

Wouldn't let him take it. That lingering fear of overdose was far too close yet, and now Ludwig had admitted to intentionally overdosing several times. Alfred wouldn't let him take those pills again, not without strict supervision and only if it became necessary.

Alfred shook his head, and Ludwig looked startled. Alarmed. Ludwig stared at him for a long time, brow crinkled and looking a bit distressed, and Alfred reached up to let his hand rest on the back of Ludwig's neck.

To ease the blow, to stave off anxiety, Alfred said, lowly, "If you have nightmares, or if you can't sleep, you can come upstairs. I don't mind."

Inviting Ludwig into his bed without actually saying it aloud.

Ludwig stared at him, piercingly, and breathed, "Don't you sleep on the couch?"

Alfred tried to smile.

"Yeah. Guess I do. We can figure something out."

Looking dazed and dumbfounded and frightened, Ludwig turned and ambled off into his bedroom without another word. Alfred supposed it was a scary concept, trying to sleep on his own without the aid of powerful drugs.

Alfred sat on the couch, turned off the lights, and looked frequently at the bedroom door as his intoxication began to take hold.

It was just a few feet away. Only needed to push open the door.

In the end, Alfred fell over on his side and waited, hoping that Ludwig would come to him. He didn't, and sleep came in and out. That night, though, there was another moment of fear. Again, another jolt of terror, caught in between dreams and reality.

Another shadow by the window.

Alfred sat upright in panic, reaching out for his gun and adrenaline burning, but once more when he settled down and looked, he didn't see anything. He checked the window again, looked for footprints and found none. Christ almighty, he was probably startin' to lose his goddamn mind, it was such a wreck.

Still, as before, Alfred checked the locks and then went straight to Ludwig's bedroom, pushing the door open and checking in.

Safe.

Alfred stood and watched Ludwig sleep, as he often did these days, but he had forgotten that Ludwig wasn't drugged tonight, and so when Alfred shifted his weight and a floorboard creaked, Ludwig woke up, because he hadn't been sleeping soundly.

A sharp inhale, as Ludwig saw a shadow in his doorframe, probably scared to death at the sight, but Alfred quickly called, "It's just me."

Ludwig settled down, and rasped, "What are you doing?"

Alfred hesitated, because he didn't want to tell Ludwig that he was just being paranoid and seeing shadows, because Ludwig would panic. Didn't need another recurrence of that, by any means.

So Alfred just said, honestly but creepily, "Watching you sleep."

Eh.

He meant to retreat in embarrassment, but Ludwig called, "Wait."

Alfred fell still, lifted his chin, and waited.

A long hesitation, and then Ludwig gathered up his courage, and whispered, "Don't you get uncomfortable on the couch? If you want—"

Ludwig cut himself off, obviously too embarrassed to continue, but Alfred was pretty sure he got the gist, and, to spare Ludwig's pride just a little, he asked, "Bad dreams?"

Ludwig nodded, whether it was true or not, and so Alfred shut the door behind him, came forward, and Ludwig wriggled over to the side to make room for him.

Crawling into Ludwig's bed was very surreal. Being under the same blanket as Ludwig. Smelling him there, knowing he was so close. The gap between them was very pronounced, very polite, very cold, but it was one of Alfred's more comfortable moments. Ludwig rolled over onto his side, staring away at Alfred, but quickly looked away when Alfred rolled onto his side to face him.

Ludwig pulled the blanket up until only his pale eyes were visible above, and he looked nervous, scared, anxious, so Alfred settled for sleep and closed his eyes, if only to settle Ludwig.

Every time he opened his eyes, though, Ludwig was staring at him.

Must have been strange to have someone new in his bed.

That was an odd night, both wonderful and terribly awkward. Morning came quickly, and Alfred was certain that neither he nor Ludwig had actually slept much, alternating between staring at each other and trying hard to fall unconscious.

At the first light of dawn, Ludwig wriggled out of bed carefully and stealthily, and Alfred sat up, and looked around. His first time being lucid in Ludwig's bedroom.

Red curtains, burgundy sheets. Cream carpet and wallpaper. A large dresser in the corner. The closet door. On the wall above the dresser, a large framed photo : some corporate meeting, and Alfred could see Gilbert there, shaking hands with Ivan as they held something there in between them, some sort of plaque or whatnot. Must have been when the companies had become partners, and no doubt that Ludwig had framed that because it was the only picture he had of Ivan and Gilbert together. Gilbert wasn't smiling, steely as ever, but Ivan was positively beaming. Ah, Gilbert had no idea that in that moment in time Ivan was courting his little brother. Life was strange.

On the dresser sat a professional picture of Ivan and Ludwig, no doubt at their wedding.

Alfred thought that the glass was cracked in the corner.

He shuddered a little, and stood up, seeking Ludwig.

Somehow...

It seemed time to put this to bed. Alfred had been climbing and climbing, and the peak seemed somehow far away and yet also behind him. Like he had crossed the finish line and hadn't realized it and so he had kept on running.

Ludwig came out of the bathroom, hair damp and skin red from the warm water, and Alfred snatched out, startling Ludwig, and grabbed him up in his arms to hug him.

Never had he embraced Ludwig, like normal people did.

Ludwig froze up, warm there against him in the cold morning. The scent of soap and shampoo. Alfred pulled back a little after a while, holding Ludwig in place by the waist, and said, dumbly, "Good morning."

Ludwig was silent, but he finally moved, to bring his hands up and place them upon Alfred's chest, in a natural reaction to the imbalance caused by Alfred's grip upon him.

Long, warm seconds of staring at each other, far too closely, and then Alfred made a motion, pressed forward, and stopped short at the last possible second. He hesitated, as Ludwig leaned in just a bit. Uncertain movements, awkward shuffling, as he felt Ludwig's breath on his cheek and tried to gather his nerve. Far too intimate a position he was in right now to really just let Ludwig go and walk away.

So Alfred finally tore his eyes from Ludwig's lips and met his gaze instead, and murmured, "Can I tell you something?"

Flipping the tables, and Ludwig instantly nodded, hands still on Alfred's chest.

Warm.

He steeled his will, readied himself for acceptance or rejection, and finally said, "I really wanna kiss you."

Ludwig's eyes shot open, he scoffed a little in disbelief, and seemed stunned. Alfred didn't see why, since he had been very vocally trying to get into Ludwig's pants for five months. Ludwig seemed to gather himself up quickly enough, for he suddenly pressed forward, a little, but then just as abruptly fell short. This time, it was Ludwig's turn to choke and pull back.

Alfred didn't plan on letting him go anywhere. Ludwig was getting kissed then, whether he liked it or not.

Another scoff, lighter than the last, and then Ludwig turned his head and cast his eyes to the shoes by the door. An awful falling of his face, and Alfred was a little surprised (but not really) when Ludwig suddenly started crying. Ludwig's head was an absolute wreck, his emotions were haywire, the poor guy had probably snapped just a little, but Alfred had always known that.

May not have been right, but Alfred placed his hands on Ludwig's shoulders to hold him in place, and even though Ludwig was crying Alfred still pushed forward and kissed him anyway.

Ludwig's wide eyes stared at him for a while, before they eventually fluttered closed and Ludwig leaned up against him. Slumped against him, actually, and Alfred's arms may have been the only things keeping Ludwig upright then.

Poor bastard.

When they broke apart, Alfred forced Ludwig's head down and pressed his face into his shoulder, as Ludwig worked his way through a sea of emotion.

When Ludwig finally spoke up, though, his voice muffled from Alfred's shirt, what he said stung.

"You don't have to do this. This shouldn't be part of your job. I won't do that again, I won't, I promise, so you don't have to do this."

A rush of anger, but not exactly at Ludwig.

Couldn't say he blamed Ludwig much for doubting, for being suspicious and mistrustful. The men around Ludwig had made him that way. Ludwig wasn't used to anyone liking him for what he saw as no good reason. Ludwig had been vulnerable to Ivan, and was vulnerable now to Alfred. Just like Ivan, Alfred took advantage of that to get something he wanted.

But all he wanted was for Ludwig to love him, for someone to see him and want him and need him, and to give that back in turn; was that such a bad thing?

Alfred pulled back, forced Ludwig's gaze, hardened his face, and said, sternly, "Hey! Knock it off. It ain't like that, and you know it. Stop. I'm not your brother. I don't want anything from you. This isn't part of my job. I just— I _want_ to be here with you."

The awful crumple of Ludwig's face, as he struggled to comprehend why anyone would like him without wanting something in return. No expectations—that simply wasn't possible in Ludwig's cold world.

Once again, Alfred held Ludwig there and let him cry it out, but Alfred was pretty sure that Ludwig was staring at Ivan's shoes over his shoulder.

This was the first step to getting over it, and Ludwig eventually composed himself as he always did. When Alfred kissed him the second time, Ludwig was steady, strong, still, and didn't fall apart, instead lifting his hands to Alfred's neck.

That morning was the best of Alfred's life, and he would have done anything at all to make every morning after be the same.

Ludwig smiled at him from across the table, and Alfred stared over at him and fell in love.

That time, when Alfred delivered Ludwig to work, it felt different in some way. Nothing had changed, from a technical aspect. He had always opened doors, kept Ludwig from the street, shoved him into the subway corner watchfully, kept guard over him at all times. Did nothing different that day. Yet somehow, every time Alfred placed his hand on the back of Ludwig's arm, he felt a strange rush of adrenaline.

Shutting Ludwig's office door and slinking over, feeling sly and on top of the world when he leaned down and kissed Ludwig's cheek before leaving for the day. Ludwig's pretty smile.

Ludwig had long since not been a job, but now Ludwig was something else.

Ludwig was _his_ , as far as Alfred was concerned, and Alfred would have burnt the world up to keep him safe.

Someone saw him.


	17. Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N : You have three chapters of (mostly) fluff. Enjoy them, for they are the last in the rest of this 40-ish chapter soap opera nonsense.

**Chapter 17**

**Promise**

Sunlight.

Not outside, with as pale and overcast as it still was, but certainly the sun was out up in Alfred's head, as the drab world around him lit up. That strange and surreal sensation of being in love, and how it made the world seem more beautiful.

The incredible feeling of going to pick Ludwig up that day, and to have Ludwig smile over at him as Alfred placed a hand on his back. Meeting each other's gazes in the subway, coy smiles and crinkled eyes, as the world shifted and things were different.

And then to get home, Alfred's home now in a sense as well, and to push Ludwig inside and kiss him as soon as the door was shut.

Ludwig's pale hands on his neck.

When Alfred pulled back, Ludwig's icy eyes ran over his face, restlessly, and then Ludwig smiled as he murmured, so lowly, "You weren't lying."

Ludwig must have seen the affection there on Alfred's face.

Captivated by that beautiful smile, Alfred could only shake his head as Ludwig ran fingers through his hair. Couldn't remember the last time someone had been affectionate with Alfred.

Ludwig eventually squirmed out of Alfred's arms, Alfred followed him like a lost puppy, and at some point during dinner Ludwig had stolen Alfred's glasses and tossed them god knew where. Alfred was somewhat hypnotized by Ludwig, and didn't really remember that act at all, nor did he remember how, exactly, they had wound up in a tangled heap on the couch.

Alfred did remember asking, "So, do I have to sleep on the couch still?"

Ludwig's pretty eyes lidded, and he practically purred, "Not if you can promise to behave yourself."

With _that_ voice? The hell did Ludwig ever expect Alfred to control himself when he was fuckin' purring like that, like the goddamn engine of that equally German car, for god's sake he could feel the reverberation there in his chest above Ludwig's.

Surely that was a violation of the Geneva Convention, having to behave himself in a bed with Ludwig.

But Alfred sighed, dramatically, and grumbled, "I'll try."

No promises.

And to be perfectly honest, Alfred had every single intention of getting his hands on Ludwig's long legs and then sneakily maneuvering himself between them, because he hadn't promised not to.

He didn't, not that night, and not because Ludwig was a little emotionally unstable or because Alfred had self-control. What kept Alfred's hands to himself that night wasn't really so much his concern for Ludwig's emotional state, rather than that he had seen a glint of light off of Ludwig's wedding ring, hanging there ever around Ludwig's neck.

Distasteful.

Couldn't have rolled over on Ludwig like that, with that ring there. Woulda felt second-best still, just a stand-in, a surrogate, and that was always one of his constant fears, that Ludwig was just using him for a source of affection while Ivan was gone.

Even if Alfred had been the one on top of Ludwig then, Ivan's ring was still around his neck.

At dawn's light breaking through the window, Alfred stared up at the ceiling, anxiety running rampant in his head, insecurity, as Ludwig came to consciousness with an inhale. A squirm, a wriggle, and then Ludwig suddenly rolled over pressed up against Alfred, throwing an arm over his chest, face burrowing away in Alfred's shoulder.

A burst of confidence.

Had to keep his head up, had to keep pushing. It was one thing at a time, and Alfred had already come so far in such a short amount of time. Soon, Ludwig would take that ring off, and would eventually put those shoes by the door away. Maybe there would come a day when he and Ludwig would take a picture together, and it would be that picture sitting atop the dresser instead.

The clock ticked away, and Alfred turned his head, watching Ludwig expectantly.

But Ludwig seemed in no rush to leave bed, still burrowed there in Alfred's side, and Alfred eventually repositioned his arm to rest it over Ludwig's shoulders, fingers brushing through his hair.

"Sleeping in?" Alfred asked, and Ludwig nodded.

Unusual.

After a silence, Ludwig muttered, "There's nothing to do today."

Alfred furrowed his brow, and pried, "You're not going to Gilbert's?"

Ludwig shook his head.

That time, Alfred didn't press for more information, because sometimes it was better not to know, but Ludwig took it upon himself to fill Alfred in, by uttering, in that thunderous, husky voice of sleep, "Gilbert told me not to bother anymore. I can't do that right, either."

Anger.

Had Gilbert actually said that, or was that Ludwig's interpretation?

"I feel like everything is falling apart, out of nowhere. Every routine I've ever had is suddenly breaking."

Alfred turned his eyes to Ludwig's hair, his face still hidden, and he wondered if Gilbert said such harsh things to Ludwig to blind Ludwig to the fact that Gilbert loved him so. Gilbert forbade weakness and fear, but Ludwig brought out those feelings in Gilbert, and for that, perhaps, Gilbert was so mercilessly strict with Ludwig.

To attempt to cheer Ludwig up without making an ass of himself, Alfred offered, "It'll be fine. He just doesn't want you to get hurt. He was so worried about you that day."

So worried about Ludwig, in fact, that Gilbert and Toris had demanded Alfred to shoot on sight. Alfred neglected to mention that to Ludwig.

At Ludwig's silence, Alfred gave him a shake, and tried, "You can fix up _my_ clothes today, if you want. They're probably a wreck."

Ludwig snorted, and teased, "I've seen your jeans. I'm not a miracle-worker, Alfred."

Alfred rolled over, grabbing Ludwig up and forcing his gaze, and said, cheerily, "Well, then! Let's just stay in bed all day."

Sounded like a great plan to him.

Ludwig, however, may have disagreed, because Ludwig wasn't a lazy bastard like Alfred and staying in bed all day may not have been high on his list of things to do.

Ludwig lifted a brow, coyly, and began, "If I have nothing now to do on Tuesdays, perhaps I can make this my new jog day."

Alfred grimaced, and immediately offered, "Or! We can go to the beach instead. Or the gym. Or, hey, shot in the dark—why don't we go buy you a treadmill? Huh? Then you can run on those legs all ya want, and I can sit on the couch. Everyone wins."

Fuckin' genius.

Ludwig pushed his lips out thoughtfully, and seemed in contemplation.

"Well," he finally murmured, "I don't suppose that's such a bad idea."

Yes!

That was worth getting out of bed for, after a few kisses here and there and rolling Ludwig around in his arms back and forth across the bed. Ludwig's messy hair and breathless smile were good reasons to get out of bed, too, in all fairness, and Alfred was pretty puffed out in confidence when they went out to get the car.

Alfred did stay alert and on guard, though, looking over his shoulder frequently and down every alley they passed.

Just in case.

Never knew when Ivan would come barging up, and especially now that Ivan assumed (correctly) that Ludwig was seeing someone else. Ivan was possessive, unpredictable, and now had a reason to harm Ludwig when he hadn't really had a clear one before.

Luckily, Ivan made no appearance, and Alfred was happy enough when Ludwig bought a treadmill and they hauled it out together to chuck in the car.

Ludwig not going outside was much better these days. The less opportunity Ivan had to find him, the better.

And, well!

The treadmill had an extra, erhm, benefit.

Alfred lied back on the couch, turned on the television, and smirked away to himself as he watched Ludwig jogging a few hours later. Ah, yes...best idea ever. And not just for the sake of his own ass, but rather the opportunity to watch Ludwig's.

Ludwig jogged away, as Alfred relentlessly channel-surfed, before he finally called, through pants, "Will you make up your mind? You're making me dizzy!"

Alfred snorted, turned the television off entirely, and crossed his arms behind his head as he watched Ludwig's legs. That was a better show, anyway.

Until Ludwig looked back over at him, and threw out, "Maybe you should use this too. Muscles can only get you so far."

Eh—

"Nah," Alfred very quickly grunted, and Ludwig smiled a little.

But his ego had been pricked, just a little, so Alfred did eventually get up. As Ludwig trotted away on the treadmill, Alfred figured he may as well look like less of a lazy bastard, and lowered himself to the floor to do some pushups. Going back to his army days for a second, and although Ludwig wasn't loud and aggressive, Alfred felt very much under the scrutinizing eye of the drill sergeant.

He kept himself in Ludwig's sights, because obviously.

The need to impress was always there, because he never knew when Ludwig was going to be looking.

He kept at it for a while, until he heard the machine turn off, and he was damn glad because he had worn himself out by then. Hoped Ludwig was aware that Alfred was trying damn hard to be macho just for his benefit.

Perhaps, because Ludwig wiped the sweat from his forehead, stared down at panting Alfred, collapsed on the floor, and then he smirked a little.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were showing off."

"Of course I am," Alfred grunted, peering up at Ludwig from the floor. "Why the hell you think I try so hard? It ain't for my health."

No lie.

Ludwig stared away down at him, and if Ludwig noticed that Alfred was raking his legs up and down then he didn't make it obvious. Must have known, though, the tease, because he kept shifting his weight back and forth from one leg to the other, causing motion intentionally to draw Alfred's eyes.

Damn.

Alfred asked, perhaps pathetically, "Are you impressed?"

"With pushups?" Ludwig drawled, blandly. "Should I be?"

Alfred scoffed, staring away at Ludwig's legs, and retorted, "Hell yeah. Don't see you doin' any. Legs for days, but you can't skip chest day."

"Is that so?" Ludwig monotoned, face perfectly condescending (had learned _that_ from Toris, surely) as he continued to shift his weight, the bastard. "Forgive me, but pushups don't exactly seem that strenuous."

Before Alfred could reply, Ludwig suddenly came sauntering over, using those legs for all they were worth, and damn if it wasn't absolutely mesmerizing. Knew those legs would end up doing him in, just knew it, and it was easy then to see it. Alfred just gawked up at Ludwig, unable to move, and felt the hairs on his arms stand up when Ludwig reached him and met his gaze.

A very deep, sultry whisper.

"Allow me to give you a more... _vigorous_ workout. _Then_ I'll be impressed."

Holy _shit_! Was he about to get laid?

Alfred lifted up his head, knowing that he must have looked a little dumb and eager, red-faced, and was very quick to say, far more excitedly than he meant to, "Oh, yeah? Well, I sure as hell won't say—"

He was cut off quite rudely with a gasp and grunt when Ludwig suddenly plopped down atop his back, using him as a stool rather easily.

Ludwig crossed his legs without missing a beat, uttering, "Well? Come on. Ivan used to do these with one arm. And I was quite a bit heavier back then."

With exertion, Alfred managed to draw his hands back up under his chest, and somehow grunted, against the pressure, "Not exactly...what I had in mind."

Ludwig snorted, and replied, ever so cattily, "Alfred, I can only imagine what _you_ had in mind."

"Best not said aloud."

"No doubt."

With that, Alfred shook his head, braced his shoulders and feet, and tried damn hard to push himself up off of the floor. Took a second, as his arms shook miserably as he tried to lift Ludwig up. When he was finally, miraculously, in position, Ludwig supplied, cheerily, "Good job! Now, try for ten."

Ten? Like hell. Probably couldn't even manage one.

Ivan had done this with one _arm_ , holy fucking shit—

As he held himself there, Ludwig quite heavy atop him, Alfred only grumbled, crankily, "This isn't fair. I already wore myself out."

"No excuses," Ludwig replied, sounding very much like Gilbert.

"Let's switch off and see how many excuses we come up with," Alfred griped, as Ludwig lounged away without a care in the world, and he knew that it wasn't going to happen, no way, because he wasn't quite strong enough, but he was also aware that Ludwig's posterior was atop his back and the need to impress was very, very high.

Extremely high.

Ludwig scoffed, "I think not. You're the show-off, not me."

True.

So, despite his knowledge that he would fail, Alfred finally exhaled, and tried to lower himself down. To his amazement, he didn't crash down to the floor immediately, held himself up quite well, but when he tried to push back up there was no movement. Just couldn't do it, and when he tried a second time, his arms finally gave out on him and he collapsed, pinned down by Ludwig's weight.

...eh. Not the worst way to go.

Above him, Ludwig sat ever still, and said, "Well. Good effort. Perhaps tomorrow."

"I'm looking forward to it," Alfred grumbled, and he kinda meant that.

He _was_ a showoff, at the end of the day.

Ludwig, for his part, seemed quite content to stay put there above him, and Alfred wasn't complaining about that anytime soon, glancing up at Ludwig from time to time and feeling pretty content himself.

When Ludwig finally considered the punishment well and complete, he looked down at Alfred, and asked, "Finished?"

"Guess so."

Hadn't wanted Ludwig to move, but he stood up then all the same, and Alfred raised himself up onto his knees, looking up at Ludwig a bit heatedly.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're kind of an asshole?" Alfred asked, very shamelessly staring at Ludwig's legs.

"Yes," Ludwig droned. "You. Just now."

Asshole, alright, and Alfred was quick to reach out, wrap his arms around Ludwig's legs, and drag him forcibly down to the floor.

Being humiliated wasn't so bad when Ludwig was warm underneath him, and they spent the next hour or so just lying there lazily on the floor, running hands over each other and murmuring.

Nothing else to do.

Alfred was gathering up the courage to forcibly remove that wedding ring from around Ludwig's neck, so that he could actually climb on top of Ludwig and not feel like he was some kinda home-wrecker.

He just didn't want Ludwig to melt down. He had seen that awful collapse of everything in Ludwig when Alfred had merely put out the vague possibility of removing the ring, let alone actually do it.

He gave himself a million reasons up in his head to take the ring from Ludwig, had a thousand wonderful, convincing arguments, so many, and yet every time Alfred opened his mouth for the rest of that day, he choked. Something held him back. His own insecurity, no doubt, because he knew that Ludwig was still in love with Ivan and was only with Alfred because he couldn't have his husband anymore.

When they were in bed that night, on their sides and staring at each other, chest to chest and hands running down sides, Alfred tried once more to find the nerve.

Once more, he failed, and merely stared at the silver chain visible there on Ludwig's neck, poking out from beneath the collar of his shirt. Ludwig may have known what he was staring at, for he suddenly pressed his face into Alfred's neck.

Couldn't do it, and so Alfred could only try to sleep, as Ludwig steadily drifted off there beside him.

His mind was racing far too much for him to sleep soundly. Just that unpleasant, restless sleep, awake one minute and asleep the next. Exhausting.

Cold air, lingering above the warmth of the blanket.

Could hear sleet suddenly falling outside, soft plinking against the glass as Ludwig slept.

That ring.

He was drawn from the edge of sleep several hours later, when the clock was close to midnight, by a strange sound. He sat up with an inhale, and looked immediately to the window, but there was no one there. He turned his eyes to the door. Nothing. Dazed and confused, Alfred reached out for his gun, instinctively, but was stopped short by a movement beside of him. It took Alfred a moment to focus through the fog and realize that it had come from a writhing Ludwig.

That sound that had awoken him had come from Ludwig, as he twitched and deep noises of distress came from his chest.

Took a bit longer for Alfred to figure out that Ludwig was having a pretty vivid nightmare, without his pills to sedate him.

Oh, damn—

That old protectiveness reared up, as ferociously as always, and he leaned over and reached out, resting a hand on Ludwig's shoulder. At the touch, Ludwig cried out and bolted upright at the waist, eyes shooting wide open and breathing through his mouth. Alfred reached out again, and when he touched Ludwig's shoulder once more, Ludwig jumped terribly, flinched, braced, and immediately lifted his hands up to shield his face. Because he was used to being punched.

Fuck, that _hurt_.

Couldn't stand seeing that, and Ludwig all but buried his face in his arms as Alfred whispered to him and ran a hand down his back, trying to bring him back to reality.

A few seconds of distressed noises, erratic breathing, before Ludwig finally opened his squinted eyes and looked around. A long, shaky exhale, as Ludwig realized he had been dreaming, and his shoulders suddenly slumped. He looked over, blearily, and met Alfred's eyes in the dark.

"You alright?" Alfred asked, dumbly.

Ludwig nodded, in a blatant lie, but Alfred accepted it because it had been a stupid question.

He twisted at the side, wrapped his arms around Ludwig's neck, kissed the side of his head, and could feel Ludwig's hammering pulse. Didn't even wanna know what that poor bastard dreamed about, although Alfred had probably had many similar nightmares over the years.

Very abruptly, out of nowhere, Ludwig murmured, "I'm glad you're here. I hope— You'll stay, won't you?"

Ludwig turned his head so that they were nose to nose, and Alfred tried to nod but found himself rather paralyzed.

Instead, he offered, "Yeah. I'll stay."

Ludwig stared at him, and Alfred didn't realize at first that he had started holding his breath.

Silence.

Pale moonlight, breaking through the curtains and lighting Ludwig's eyes up silver.

The sleet battered away on the window.

Alfred finally moved, and reached out to grab the chain around Ludwig's neck and pull it off. Ludwig watched, anxiously, but Alfred merely set in on the nightstand. Where that nerve finally came from, he couldn't say. Just seein' Ludwig like that.

Maybe it was that ring that brought those nightmares to Ludwig, as much as the glasses brought Alfred his.

Before Alfred could turn back fully around, Ludwig snatched out and grabbed Alfred's arm in both hands, leaning in and asking, yet again, "You'll stay?"

Alfred met Ludwig's wide eyes, and held strong then, because he had known all along what he was doing by making romantic moves on a man so emotionally and mentally damaged. If Ludwig clung to him as desperately as he was yet clinging to Ivan, then Alfred was prepared for that. He hadn't started this with the intention of leaving halfway through.

Ludwig was vulnerable, Alfred was taking advantage of him in that state, and for that Alfred was ready to deal with the consequences. If those consequences involved a paranoid, insecure Ludwig clinging to his every breath and word, then so be it.

The bruise over Ludwig's eye, though faint, was still visible.

Alfred closed the gap between them, and affirmed, "I won't leave."

A strange, strangled inhale, and then Ludwig was the one to press forward and kiss Alfred, throwing his arms around his neck and knocking Alfred back down with his exuberance. Alfred's hands flew to Ludwig's waist instinctively, and that was that. Wasn't letting go of Ludwig now that he had him in his clutches.

Luckily for everyone, Ludwig offered no resistance whatsoever when Alfred rolled him over, and raised his hands up to Alfred's shoulders as Alfred ran his own (at long last) down Ludwig's legs.

 _Finally_.

Had eyeballed these pin missiles since day one, and being able to drag his palms down them was one of the more remarkable moments of his life. Seemed miles long, they really did, swear it took him minutes to go from heel to thigh, but that have been all relative up in his head.

He then remembered that Ludwig's legs would probably be better without the lounge pants. Come to think, Ludwig was just better without clothing in general, and was quick to remedy that.

Ludwig was quiet and rather still beneath him, but his hands were moving, over Alfred's shoulders and chest and arms.

Wondered—

Nah.

Had to stop thinking all those dreary damn thoughts, he really did, fuckin' mood killer. Had to stop wondering if Ludwig was so still because he was afraid to move, when doing so before had likely earned him a good bit of violence. Had to stop thinking about those claw marks on the wallpaper and wondering if the bedroom had been the final destination. Had to stop contemplating how many awful things had happened in this bed, long nights with Ludwig half-conscious and bruised.

Hard not to let those notions creep in, even then, warm under the blanket with a handsome man he was falling in love with.

For just a moment, there in between Ludwig's legs, Alfred fell still.

A million things in his head that he wanted to say, wanted to express, and he could have never vocalized a single one of them. Wanted to explain to Ludwig how he felt, that Alfred wasn't using him, and, above all else, that Alfred wasn't going to hurt him and so Ludwig could have said 'no', if he really wanted. That Ludwig was the one with the final say, in the end, that he had a choice for once.

Nothing came out, so he stared down at Ludwig, caught immobile.

Ludwig was sharp and astute, and so perhaps even in the dark he could see Alfred's hesitations there on his face, for he suddenly pressed up and kissed him. Alfred could only assume that that was Ludwig's way of silently consenting. That was good enough for him.

Could easily say that that was the most loved he had ever felt in his miserable life, when he pushed forward and Ludwig's arms wrapped around his back to drag him farther in. Being as close as possible to someone that he cared about, someone that he would have done anything for.

Someone who cared about _him_.

Ludwig was very quiet, breathing heavily through his nose but stifling all other noises, and Alfred was happy not knowing why. That crazy bastard's sensitivity to sounds—

Dammit.

Hated those thoughts, and couldn't escape them.

Alfred just clung to Ludwig the entire while, praying to god that Ludwig wouldn't suddenly whisper Ivan's name as he had when he had overdosed. Alfred still couldn't really tell who Ludwig thought he was, and more than that he didn't know who Ludwig wanted him to be. All of the evidence stated that Ludwig should have been happy to be rid of Ivan, but everything in Ludwig seemed to say the opposite.

 _Please_ , just wanted someone to see _him_ , him, even if he wasn't worth seeing, didn't want Ludwig to think that he was Ivan.

When Ludwig suddenly raised his hands to Alfred's face, Alfred panicked a little, and was quick to flip Ludwig over and push his face down into the bed. Didn't want Ludwig to feel him and maybe realize he was just Alfred.

A nobody.

Alfred was as pitiful as he had ever accused Ludwig of being.

With no range of motion and pinned down, Ludwig was still and quiet, as Alfred attempted to keep his imaginary world intact.

That hour was long, felt like eternity, and for once Alfred couldn't exactly determine if that was good or bad.

He pressed his damp forehead into Ludwig's back when he finally saw stars, and it was his own restless insecurity that finally opened up his vocal chords, for him to utter, huskily, "I swear— No matter what, I'll keep you safe. I swear it. On my life."

And he meant that. Wanted Ludwig to know how much he meant that, even if expressing it was hard.

Wanted Ludwig to realize that Alfred could rise up and be better than Ivan, if Ludwig really let him have the chance.

Ludwig reached back, grabbed his hands, and when their fingers intertwined, Alfred felt for the first time as if he belonged somewhere. Would have done anything for Ludwig, anything at all. Anything Ludwig had asked of Alfred, he would have done.

But Ludwig merely whispered again, over the heavy breathing, "Just stay."

Wasn't going anywhere.

Alfred swore, "I'll always be here. I promise."

Ludwig was terrified of being left behind. Mourned Ivan endlessly, and didn't want to mourn again. Ludwig attached himself to someone who loved him so ardently, blindly, furiously.

Everyone wanted to be loved.

Alfred swore to stay by Ludwig's side, for as long as Ludwig would have him, and he meant that all the way and without waiver. Would gladly have given his life for Ludwig, and didn't ever want to leave him.

Maybe Ludwig knew that somehow, for when they woke up in the morning, Ludwig kissed Alfred's nose and stared for quite a long while into his eyes. A hand trailing down his cheek, brushing his bangs out of his eyes. A look of adoration. Whatever Alfred had given of himself to Ludwig the night before, Ludwig was in turn giving Alfred a little of himself in that moment. Could plainly feel it. And then Ludwig stood up, grabbed his wedding ring and dutifully put it back around his neck, and quickly vanished. Before Alfred could really come to, Ludwig came back in and opened up the closet. He set something down, and left again.

When Alfred dragged himself out of bed shortly after, something caught his eye. Or, rather, the lack of something caught his eye.

He turned his gaze to the front door, and realized that Ivan's shoes weren't there.

A thrill of adrenaline, and Alfred went back into the bedroom and opened the closet door. There, in front of an unused guitar, sat Ivan's shoes, put away at long last.

Alfred smiled then, the widest he had smiled in a long damn time.

Astounding.

That ring may have yet been slipped over Ludwig's neck that morning, but it was only a matter of time before Ludwig simply sat up one morning, stood up, and entirely forgot that it was there.

When those shoes were put away, that was when Alfred stopped thinking of Ivan as Ludwig's husband. Stopped calling him that up in his head, stopped thinking of him in that specific manner. He was just Ivan, just that man, just someone Ludwig had once known. As far as Alfred was concerned, in that moment Ludwig no longer had a husband, divorce papers be damned.

Ludwig was his, and it was really as simple as that.

Hope.

Alfred had promised to stay, and to that he would hold.


	18. Hide and Seek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N : I said, er, mostly fluff, right? Right.

**Chapter 18**

**Hide and Seek**

Alfred could barely keep his hands off of Ludwig these days, and Ludwig was all smiles, very content to stay there within Alfred's arms every time he came forward and grabbed him up.

In fact, Ludwig was so cooperative that he usually squirmed around in Alfred's arms and burrowed away into his neck and shoulder, very fervently snuggling up against him even as they stood upright.

No one had snuggled up to Alfred since he had been a child.

Couldn't get enough of it, couldn't get over the feel of having someone in his arms in the morning. Had always woken up alone.

Alfred hoped, above all else, that Ludwig understood that Alfred wasn't going to be letting him go anytime soon. Hoped that Ludwig felt as strongly for Alfred as Alfred did for him, that this was a mutual falling in love.

Hoped.

Would have crushed him if he had actually gotten the nerve to ask Ludwig to come home, to ask him to marry _him_ one day, to ask him to stay with him forever, only for Ludwig to say that he had been merely wanting a comfortable fling in Ivan's absence. That Alfred just wasn't good enough for the long term.

Woulda keeled over dead.

Ludwig gave no sort of indication that that was the case, seemed very glad to see Alfred, seemed happy to have him there, and always spoke of them in the future tense. 'We will'. Ludwig intended to keep Alfred around, and Alfred did his best to give Ludwig reasons to _want_ him around.

By then, Alfred had already staked his invisible claim on Ludwig, considered him his property as it were, and had absolutely no intentions of ever letting him go.

Would never have been able to explain to anyone how inexplicably astounding it was to sit there on the couch, Ludwig straddling him, holding Ludwig steady by the waist as Ludwig's hands held his face, and to just sit there together, comfortably, foreheads pressed together and murmuring to each other through the night.

Alfred was loud and obnoxious, arrogant, always showing off, and so it was actually a little confusing in a way to feel just as on top of the world when he was quiet in Ludwig's hands. The way his chest tightened and he felt jittery when Ludwig smiled at him. Alfred had only ever had himself, had only ever cared about himself, and caring for someone else so suddenly and so fervently was a little overwhelming.

Alfred went to pick Ludwig up one evening with another dumb bouquet of flowers, and when Ludwig had smiled at him quite blindingly (so close to that smile in the photo!), Alfred had actually tripped over his own feet on the way to the desk.

Felt like Ludwig had cast some spell over him that made him dumber than he already was.

Some of his favorite moments, though, were the times when they lied together on the couch under the blanket and watched television, Ludwig's fingers running mindlessly over his chest. The entrancing sound of Ludwig's deep voice when he muttered and whispered.

Alfred had found his place, and wouldn't leave anytime soon.

Spring came.

The snows began to melt, and didn't come back except for an occasional gentle flurry. Alfred looked forward to the things they could do together in good weather, tried to pretend that everything was perfectly fine. That he and Ludwig were just a normal couple in love, and absolutely no shadows hung over them.

Sometimes, despite Alfred's best efforts, that illusion shattered.

One Friday night, they found themselves on the couch as usual, splitting a bottle of wine in a now rare moment. Things had settled; Ludwig hadn't taken any sleeping pills since Alfred had first denied him one, and hadn't turned to wine to knock himself out. Instead, Ludwig had leaned entirely on Alfred, and now they drank a bottle every other week or so on the weekend, like normal people.

Ludwig was hanging on Alfred's every word as he spoke, and he knew that Ludwig was hoping Alfred would get tipsy and give him more of that Southern accent that Ludwig for some reason actually liked.

Sure enough, Ludwig burrowed a little into Alfred's chest, walked fingers up his shirt, and asked, "Aren't you ever going to teach me some nice Southern slang?"

Alfred snorted, and threw Ludwig a bone by uttering, "I cain't."

Ludwig smiled into Alfred's neck, and purred, "Please?"

Hard to resist Ludwig on a normal day, but when Ludwig lowered his already deep voice into that guttural rumble, Alfred was done for.

He gave in, took a deep breath, and bit down his pride to look over at Ludwig and say, with as much hillbilly twang as he had grown up with, "Alrighty, then! How 'bout tomorrow we go over yonder to the park, 'cause I'm fixin' to lose my marbles stuck all up inside this house—"

Ludwig sat up a little straighter, and asked, eagerly, "Yonder?"

"Bless your heart. Over yonder means over there," Alfred clarified, and Ludwig snorted. "We can go walkin' in the woods and see what kinda varmints we can find out there. Lot's'a boomers around these parts, and y'all got some weird kindly birds, so I reckon we'll..."

Alfred trailed off, smiling away, because Ludwig had started laughing, and couldn't stop.

Alfred smiled over at him, and wasn't offended that time at someone laughing at his accent, because he knew that Ludwig liked it and was laughing because he was happy.

Alfred was captivated by Ludwig, absolutely mesmerized by him, and was perfectly immobile when Ludwig grabbed his collar and pressed his nose into Alfred's, murmuring very sultrily, "I love it when you say 'Ah'."

It was strange how one person could hear Alfred saying 'I' and laugh at him derisively for pronouncing it as 'Ah', and another person just loved it. And what Ludwig loved was obviously the most important thing to Alfred, especially when Ludwig was gazing at him with those lidded eyes, looking one second from jumping him.

Yes, please.

Alfred suddenly burst into a fit of giggles, if only because he felt so ridiculous, and above that so lit up by the closeness of Ludwig. Ludwig made him feel like a hyper little kid without even trying.

At Alfred's laughter, Ludwig dissolved into more of his own, and it was quite a nice moment then, as they butted heads and finished off the last of the wine in between snorts.

Alfred was head over heels for this strange man.

And then Ludwig's phone suddenly rang, in the middle of that laughter, and Ludwig pulled it out and answered it without even looking at it, as he always did, because it was only ever Gilbert or Toris that called him. Alfred hadn't thought anything of it, holding Ludwig up against his chest tightly and feeling nearly giddy.

Ludwig lifted the phone up to his ear and said, airily, "Hallo?"

In a second, his smile had dropped, and Alfred felt a skip of his heart when Ludwig suddenly bolted upright and away from him, jaw clenched and looking suddenly very pale. A sharp inhale, and Alfred was already bristled and ready for a fight as Ludwig's pulse started hammering away in his neck.

Alarm.

Didn't know what was happening, at least until Ludwig suddenly breathed, in a low, distressed voice, "Oh— _Please_ , Ivan, please don't do this—"

A rise of fury, wrath, and then Alfred could hear the voice coming from the phone, screaming, that awful shrieking that only Ivan was capable of. The bastard! How dare he call Ludwig's phone, when Ivan knew that Gilbert monitored Ludwig's phone records so carefully. Was growing bolder and bolder, every time, and Alfred was so angry then that he snatched forward, ripped the phone from Ludwig's hand, brought it up and screamed right back, "Call this number again and I'm gonna _kill_ you!"

Didn't engage, didn't wait for a response, because Ludwig was already upset and Alfred didn't want to make it worse. Just cut the call then, turned the phone off, and bolted over to the door, checking the lock and examining the windows, just in case. Was positively fuming then, stomping as he was, and his motions were jerky and erratic, as Ludwig sat there on the couch and stared down at the coffee table in shock.

The nerve!

Every time Alfred was determined to settle, Ivan came roaring up out of nowhere and knocked everything off of its axis.

After checking the door, Alfred gave in to his childish temper, for one moment, and turned to the side to punch the wall. Not hard enough to make a hole, as he had tried to restrain himself, but enough to cause a pain in his knuckles. Shouldn't've done that, not with Ludwig there, because the wall had already been patched up far too many times, but Alfred sometimes still fell victim to the manner in which he had been raised.

He was so angry then because he felt as if something that was his had been violated. That shaky claim he had on Ludwig was ever insecure, and Ivan was really Alfred's only threat and obstacle to having the life he had always wanted.

Ludwig stared at Alfred from the couch, as he fumed and stomped, and was very still and very quiet. Pretending to be invisible.

Anger vanished, exhausted, and Alfred slumped entirely, raising a hand to his forehead.

Uneasy. Anxious. Thinking back on those nights he had awoken in a fright to a shadow at the window. Sometimes, Alfred wondered if he really had been dreaming after all, if maybe Ivan was a little closer to them than Alfred would have liked, if perhaps encounters had been more frequent than Alfred had known.

When Alfred finally came over and threw himself down beside Ludwig, Ludwig stared straight ahead at the piano and suddenly murmured, "He's never going to let me go. Never. I should..."

Alfred reached out and grabbed Ludwig's hand, trying to lend him a bit of courage.

Ludwig turned his head and looked at Alfred, and drearily uttered, "You should go. I should go back to him, even if Gilbert disowns me. No one else will get hurt that way."

"Not a chance," Alfred hissed, and gave Ludwig's hand a shake to draw him out of that mood.

No way in hell.

Ludwig's pale eyes ran over his face, a momentary scrunching of his brow, before Ludwig leaned sideways and rested against Alfred's shoulder.

Alfred watched the window all night, and didn't sleep much.

The next Monday, when Ludwig was at work, Alfred did a little shopping, and came home to install some better locks on the windows. The house had a security system, yeah, but a rather inefficient one. One that was more for peace of mind rather than actual use. Just a small alarm that would have gone off at the sound of shattering glass, and little more.

Alfred knew that the only reason Ludwig didn't have a good security system was because Ludwig, until recently, had always wanted Ivan to come home. The last thing Ludwig had ever wanted was police involvement.

Alfred installed a second deadbolt on the backdoor, better locks on every window, and a little security camera at the front door that looked over both the porch and the living room window. Nothing fancy, one of those that you had to pull the card out of to watch the video manually, just something for observation.

Wanted to see, once and for all, if he had been dreaming.

As usual, Alfred didn't tell Ludwig about any of it, and didn't need to. Ludwig noticed the camera immediately when they came home, but may not have realized yet that the windows had new locks.

It was Ludwig who looked over at Alfred then, as Alfred held open the door, to ask, "Bad dreams?"

Alfred's turn to nod.

With that renewed air of fear and paranoia, there was no going outside except for work or groceries. No more reprieve of Gilbert's private beach. No enjoying the warming air and blooming flowers. Spring was creeping up prettily, and Ludwig had to watch it all from behind a pane of glass.

Ludwig must have felt so trapped. A little mouse, stuck in the walls because outside there was an invisible cat, ready to pounce on him at the slightest instance of carelessness.

Being cooped up inside constantly was beginning to take a toll on Ludwig. Could see it there so easily, and Alfred tried to think of things he could do to help.

Just wanted to _help_.

Couldn't stand that line of tension constantly on Ludwig's forehead as he sadly stared out at the flowering trees lining the street.

That Saturday, Alfred packed up his bag with a blanket and some water bottles, made sandwiches and packed them up, too, and Ludwig watched him suspiciously.

"Going somewhere?"

"Yeah," Alfred said, as he threw the strap of the bag over his shoulder. "So are you. Let's go get the car."

Ludwig might have protested or asked more questions if he hadn't been so ready to actually get out of this house for once.

Alfred looked over his shoulder as usual, and when the car was brought out of the parking garage, Ludwig finally asked, "Where are we going?"

"You'll see. Pass me the keys?"

Ludwig lifted his chin, glared a little, but then tossed the keys in Alfred's face. Alfred caught them with a wink, and Ludwig did warn, as they got in, "Don't you dare crash."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Alfred drawled, and meant it.

Now that the snow was gone, anyway. He was from the South, and didn't drive in snow or ice, admittedly, because then he woulda wound up in a ditch somewhere. Ludwig was in safe hands as long as it wasn't winter, and Ludwig trusted him immensely to let him drive that car to god only knew where.

The trip was a little under two hours, and halfway through Ludwig asked again, "Where are we going?"

"To the Delaware river. I know a few nice little picnic spots. Where we'll be all alone, if you know what I mean."

He clapped his palm down on Ludwig's thigh as he said it, giving him a squeeze, and Ludwig rolled his eyes a little before turning his gaze back to the passing scenery.

Ludwig was elated to be out in nature, and Alfred felt the same. A long time coming.

"How do you know your way around here?"

"When I was new to the city I would drive around a lot. Trying to find spots, just for me, you know? I'm from the country. The city was a little much at first. Out here was my favorite place. My private spot."

Ludwig snorted, and playfully said, "Thanks for sharing your secrets with me."

Alfred smiled, and the trees flew by.

When he finally parked the car, it was upon an isolated hill, up a dirt road. Trees all around, rocks and rolling hills and the river down in the valley. Alfred took Ludwig's hand and let him through the forest and up onto a rock that overlooked the river.

When they were sitting upon the blanket and staring out over the water, Ludwig looked _happy_.

Alfred had found this place many years ago and had claimed it as his own, because in all the times he had come here he had never once encountered another person. Hadn't been here in years, since he had had to sell his car for quick cash.

The sun glinted off the deep blue river, as Ludwig rested against Alfred's side, and they passed the daylight hours just chatting and enjoying being out in the wild.

A much needed getaway.

When the sun fell and the first stars were visible over the pink and orange of sunset, Ludwig kissed his cheek, and murmured, "Thanks."

A surge of pride, and Alfred pulled himself up and extended his hand to Ludwig. He intertwined their fingers and swung their arms back and forth, just like a little kid alright, as they walked back through the woods to the car.

As always, there was absolutely no one else around, and when Alfred was in the vehicle, he hesitated when he went to turn the ignition.

Instead, he quirked a brow, locked the doors, and turned to Ludwig, reaching up and crooking his finger in the air. Ludwig appeared familiarly condescending, even as he obeyed Alfred and leaned across the seat just a bit.

"There's no rush to get home," Alfred said, voice low and likely mischievous.

Alfred was just trying his luck, testing the waters, seeing how far he could get. He had only been half-serious, so he was actually quite shocked to find himself thirty seconds later with the driver's seat pushed all the way back and Ludwig straddling him, the top of Ludwig's head brushing the roof of the car as Alfred tried to suffocate him with his tongue.

The windshield and windows were already quite fogged up, as the cold air outside couldn't keep up with the intense heat inside that automobile.

A little cramped, trying to fit Ludwig's long legs around stocky Alfred as Ludwig could barely fit in between Alfred and the steering wheel, but where there was a will there was a way.

And there was a _lot_ of will, particularly when Ludwig was breathing very heavily.

There was a minor issue, however, when enthusiastic Alfred sank his teeth into Ludwig's pale neck and Ludwig clenched his fingers in Alfred's hair, before the moment was unceremoniously ruined by a noise outside. Just a branch or something, creaking in the heavy March wind. Alfred didn't think anything of it, but Ludwig inhaled and jumped, wrenching back and immediately breathing, in a panic, "What was that?"

Alfred yanked Ludwig back in, reassuring, "Nothin'. Just the wind."

A bad line from a million slasher films, sure, but really, what else would it be? Probably just some damn birds. Alfred was very happy with the opportunity for car-sex, thanks a lot, and didn't want it ruined by sounds from the forest.

Ludwig tried to settle down, refocused on Alfred, and was quick to run his hands under Alfred's shirt and up through his chest hair. Another few wonderful minutes, as Alfred managed to somehow get Ludwig's ankles up on his shoulders and was fumbling with Ludwig's belt.

But at every little sound of nature, every sway of the branches in the wind, every crack of a twig, every little noise, Ludwig would fall still with an inhale and turn wide eyes to the foggy windows. Absolutely paranoid, it seemed, and well...

Kinda killed the mood, for sure, and Ludwig's anxiety was giving Alfred anxiety.

Tried his best to distract Ludwig one more time by grabbing his hips and grinding him down, and it worked for a fraction of a second, as Ludwig grabbed his face and kissed him, but then another twig somewhere cracked. Once more, Ludwig pulled back with a sharp inhale, and looked to the foggy window even though he couldn't see anything at all.

That time, the jitters were too much, and Ludwig finally whispered, "I'm sorry— I can't, I'm just—"

Fuck, fuck, fuck—

"It's fine," Alfred interjected, to save Ludwig the effort, and because by then he was a little nervous, too. That awful feeling of his stomach twisting and adrenaline coursing.

 _Hated_ this, all of it, wished it woulda been done and over with, and often nowadays Alfred regretted not listening to Gilbert and Toris and shooting Ivan when he had had a clear chance back at the mansion. Had missed his opportunity, and now was jumping at shadows.

Another cracking branch or twig, as the wind picked up ever more, and Ludwig squirmed off of Alfred and back over into his seat, breathing through his mouth and looking so nervous as he checked to make sure his door was locked.

Without thinking, Alfred did the same.

"Let's go, please," Ludwig whispered, as if afraid to raise his voice, and Alfred could hear the fear there. When he glanced over, Ludwig was sitting up straight as a board, and Alfred finally turned the ignition. But when he meant to turn on the headlights, something forced him still.

Couldn't explain it. Just one of those irrational and unfounded but extremely potent instances of fright.

For a terrible, heart-stopping moment, Alfred's hand fell still there on the handle, because he was ridiculously afraid then of turning on the headlights. Stupid, so stupid, getting the heebie jeebies as a fully grown man, but damn if Alfred didn't feel that shiver of terror under the surface.

Like some awful horror movie, alright, two horny teenagers making out in a car in the middle of nowhere about to be slaughtered. Turning the headlights on just to see a figure standing before the car, someone lurking there in the dark, someone who had been watching the entire while. Things you could hear but couldn't see.

 _Stupid_.

Alfred set his jaw, found his nerve, and flipped the headlights on.

And there was absolutely nothing there in front of the car.

He started driving, as Ludwig ran a palm over his forehead and the bridge of his nose, and after a long silence, Ludwig once more muttered, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Alfred offered, and left it there.

Not satisfied, Ludwig turned to him, and tried, "I liked it out there, I did. We can go back whenever you want. I didn't—"

"It's alright," Alfred once more interjected, as the roads and street lights passed, and Ludwig sighed.

"No," he grumbled, in a stronger voice. "It's not alright. I can't— I don't wanna keep doing this. I'm sick of it. I am. I hate being scared just to go outside. I don't want to be scared at every little damn noise. I want this all to be over."

Alfred glanced at Ludwig, and snorted a little.

The most emotion he had gotten out of Ludwig when it came to this situation. Now that Alfred was taking Ivan's place, Ludwig seemed a little more annoyed that life wasn't going back to a sense of normality.

Hoped that that meant that Ludwig wanted those divorce papers to be signed.

That surge of sudden defiance in Ludwig extended to their arrival home, and as soon as the door was locked behind them, Alfred barely had time to prepare himself before Ludwig had pounced on him and shoved him down onto the couch. And yeah, Alfred was glad for the subsequent ride he got, but he still kinda wished it had gone according to plan.

Alfred had given in to Ludwig's fears rather than assuaging them, and that was a failure on his part.

Over the coming days, the weather perked up, brightened, the air grew yet warmer, and spring was coming about in full force.

Flowers and vibrant leaves.

Ludwig took everything in decent stride, distracting himself from being unable to go out by being constantly affectionate with Alfred. It might have been stifling to another man, perhaps, Ludwig's perpetual snuggling up against him, but Alfred had been as deprived of love as Ludwig and was quite happy for it.

Everything was peaceful, for another two weeks. Alfred didn't take Ludwig back out to that spot, though. Maybe it would be best to wait until all of this was over and done with.

Seemed like it would never happen, at this rate, and Alfred's agitation was ever growing.

Still, he did his job dutifully, and delivered Ludwig safely to work one morning, as always. Something different that time, though, on his way back out of the skyscraper.

He walked out into the street, as he had a hundred times, as the sun was bright overhead. A shadow stopped him mid-step, and he glanced up, squinting in the light.

And oh, that awful shudder than ran through him at the sight.

Ivan.

He stood there on the sidewalk in front of the building, and his grey eyes instantly locked onto Alfred's quite mechanically. He looked quite the wreck, far worse than he had that day at Gilbert's. His skin was pale, a bit wan. His eyes seemed brighter and more frightening, from the shadows beneath them and also from the shadow above, cast by his brow. His clothes were unkempt, dirty. Not expensive, professional clothes this time, but rather just a cheap button-down, lopsided because one of the buttons was threaded into the wrong loop. Ivan's fawn-colored hair was too long, unwashed and hanging in his eyes. Heavy stubble.

Terrifying, as usual, but more so this time perhaps because of how he stood utterly immobile there in the street and just stared at Alfred.

The most frightening man was one no one could understand, and Ivan was just that. Alfred had no sense of him whatsoever, because it was as if Ivan wasn't actually _there_. Not all there in any sense. Behind some veil, some mist, half-real, borne from some bad dream.

Not really a man as much as some hellish entity.

Even as the crowd bustled around him and cars sped by, as the city exuded life and vibrancy and speed, Ivan just stood there silently, and made not one single visible movement.

Couldn't let Ivan upset him, couldn't show anger or fear or unease, not in front of that terrifying man. Had to be impervious, and so Alfred lifted his chin in confidence, rolled back his shoulders, and asked, so casually, "Hey, you signed those papers yet? Give 'em to me when you're done."

No response.

Ivan merely remained there, still so eerily statuesque, and didn't twitch a single muscle, staring at Alfred unwaveringly and with very few blinks.

This must have been what it felt like to be stared down by a demon straight from hell, surely, as the hairs on the back of Alfred's neck stood up.

If Alfred was as immobile as Ivan then, it was from sheer nerves.

Alfred spoke again, to say, with more command than he actually felt, "Come back here tomorrow and bring me those papers. Got it? Sign 'em. Let's get this over and done with. So I can have him."

Wanted to get a rise out Ivan, something, anything, because that perfectly still stare was creeping him the hell out. Maybe, in some way, he wanted Ivan to anger and charge him, so that he could have an excuse to shoot the son of a bitch once and for all.

Didn't work; Ivan was ever still.

Their awful impasse was mercifully broken when someone knocked into Ivan and drew him at last from his seeming trance. An inhale, as Ivan stood up straight, blinked, and appeared to wake up. Alfred's hand instantly flew to the hilt of his gun in preparation.

No need; Ivan merely tilted his head, frighteningly, stared at Alfred one final time, before he smiled quite crookedly and then abruptly turned and walked away.

Alfred shuddered again, and watched him go, trailing behind him at a distance.

Ivan stepped down into the subway, and Alfred backtracked to return to the office. The building had security, of course, guards who knew well enough Ivan's face and not to let him inside, and so Alfred wasn't exactly needed.

Didn't wanna scare Ludwig by going back inside and staying the entire day.

Shoulda followed Ivan to the end of the line—

He startled himself at that thought, and furiously turned on his heel to bolt down the street and run down into the subway in a frantic search for that big son of bitch. He popped on his toes, looked over the crowd, and then went to the other platform and looked there, too.

Didn't see him.

Shit. Had missed him.

Alfred spat a curse and trudged back out, berating himself for his own stupidity. Following Ivan all the way would have given him a better inkling to Ivan's location, where he was staying, and that was actually pretty fuckin' important.

Sometimes, Alfred was beyond dumb.

The damage was done, though, and when Alfred brought Ludwig home, he just happened to glance up. Another twinge of anxiety.

The camera was gone.

Ha. Not a dream.

Before Ludwig could notice, Alfred shoved him through the frame, a bit roughly, and Ludwig must have known that something was wrong, for he was very quiet again, as he always was when things were uneasy.

Enough was _enough_. Alfred was _sick_ of Ivan, absolutely over him, sick of the entire notion of him, his very existence, the problems he caused and the fear he brought out.

It was time to start erasing that bastard.

Alfred finally braced himself, inhaled for courage, and reached out to grab Ludwig's arm. He dragged placid Ludwig up to his chest, and then he lifted his hands and ran them under the collar of Ludwig's sweater to draw up the chain.

An awful collapse of Ludwig's face, as he knew what Alfred doing. But he didn't lift his hands, and didn't protest when Alfred unclasped the chain and removed it from his neck. Alfred glanced down at the ring there in his hand, and knew that it wasn't his to just throw away. But he had some position now, didn't he, some say, and so Alfred clenched it up in his fist, and walked to the bedroom. Ludwig followed him, too closely, very clearly fearful about what Alfred was going to do with his wedding ring, and he looked a breath away from tears when Alfred glanced back at him.

Didn't know what else to do but to pull open the dresser, make a space, and then take the wedding photo and place it inside the drawer. He put the chain and ring down atop it, and then gently pushed it shut. Ludwig would have to be the one to finally get rid of that ring, and Alfred let him keep it then because Ludwig finally tossing it aside would be satisfying to Alfred more than he could say.

As far as Alfred was concerned, that was that. Ivan was done and over with, at long last. Could stand out there every day if he wanted, and it would do him no good. Ludwig and Ivan would never be together again, never, and if that meant that one day Alfred would have to shoot Ivan to get the point across then so be it.

And Ludwig knew it, too, because he dissolved into tears at last, but the fact still stood that Ludwig had let Alfred take that ring away from him, and hadn't protested.

Ludwig knew it was time to let go.

Alfred's resolve had at last been cemented. He resigned himself to having no choice but to trust Toris and Gilbert's insinuations of immunity, he settled his own conscience, and above all else he reaffirmed his need to keep Ludwig safe.

The next time he saw Ivan, in whatever circumstance, he would shoot him, unless Ivan was placing those papers in Alfred's hand.

Toris and Gilbert would handle Alfred's fate from there.

In the morning, Ludwig sat up, as Alfred blearily looked up at him and ran a hand down his back. When Ludwig turned to gaze down at him, Alfred could sense that something had shifted.

Peaceful. Serene.

Ludwig looked calm. Happy.

Alfred smiled then, as Ludwig stared down at him, because he knew that Ludwig had finally let go. It had taken immense measures, impossible patience, grand effort, and the offering of everything Alfred possessed, but Ludwig had finally conceded.

Ludwig let Ivan go.

When Ludwig leaned over and kissed Alfred, that was the first day of their new lives.

Us.

Ludwig got out of bed, stood up straight and tall and confident, and it was clear that he no longer intended to let Ivan drag him down. Wouldn't give in, wouldn't bow, wouldn't be afraid, and it was very easy to see that defiance on Ludwig's face.

Ludwig's love and desire had been redirected, paths had split and objectives had changed, and it was time to move on.

Ivan was only a shadow, and eventually he would fade away, however piercingly those pale eyes stared out from the dark.


	19. This Sacred Line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N : I’m proud y’all are enjoying my Southern Alfred. T__T If you’re interested in hearing the sweet, dulcet tones of my hometown and people, I will provide the link to this YT video that was filmed not too far from here :  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=03iwAY4KlIU&t=338s
> 
> This is exactly how I sounded as a child, and I’ll have you know that it took years of hard work to beat this accent right out of myself. (but sometimes I kinda want it back, even if we get laughed at.) NOW U KNOW MY DARK HILLBILLY SECRET. Let that forever be upon your peckerwood head. ;)

**Chapter 19**

**This Sacred Line**

Spring was turning to summer.

Ludwig was brighter than the flowers, and much prettier as far as Alfred was concerned, so who needed to go outside? They created their own little world, safe within Ludwig's house, and Alfred had tried very hard to forget the wolf outside the door.

Time seemed to pass both very slowly and far too quickly, as Alfred fell into that love-struck daze and hung on Ludwig's every motion.

The piano had started collecting a little dust, as Ludwig seemed to forget it was there. Alfred had painted over the claw marks on the archway, and patched up the stair railing. With that ring and photo tucked away, the shoes out of sight, and everything glossed over, it was almost as if Ivan had never been here at all.

Only the extra locks hinted to his existence.

They seemed on the right track, everything felt warm and safe and comfortable. Ludwig leaned over and kissed Alfred's cheek in the morning, Alfred held Ludwig up against him at night. They held comfortable eye contact for long moments of time. Ludwig smoothed down Alfred's hair when it was messy, and Alfred in turned ruffled Ludwig's to make it stick up.

Alfred was comfortably awoken each morning not by the sun or an alarm, but by the remarkably wonderful sensation of Ludwig running fingers through his hair. A kiss on his cheek. Murmuring. Sometimes, Alfred made more of those stupid paper flowers and set them on the kitchen table before he went to sleep, so Ludwig would see them in the morning.

It was funny how being in love made grown men act like children.

And then one night, as Ludwig was half-asleep and upon Alfred's chest, he murmured, as he sometimes did, "Stay with me."

As he always did, Alfred responded, "I'm not going anywhere."

But that time, Ludwig burrowed into his neck, and then breathed, behind that veil of sleep, "Because you're my bodyguard."

Alfred turned his head, but Ludwig's eyes were closed and Alfred lost his voice.

That wasn't it, it wasn't.

He didn't know if Ludwig really meant it that way, had been very serious. It could have been Alfred overreacting to things, could have been his own insecurity twisting the meaning, but those words stuck with Alfred all the same.

All night.

He didn't sleep much, and was already awake when Ludwig rolled over and ran fingers through his hair. Restless. Agitated. Couldn't put his finger on it, but something was nagging him. Ludwig kissed his cheek, oblivious to Alfred's turmoil. Alfred just sat up in bed, when Ludwig had rolled out, and it suddenly hit him.

Something was wrong, alright.

Ludwig was his, and somehow, someway, it suddenly seemed to Alfred that getting paid to protect him was a little off-putting. Ludwig was _his_ —Alfred would have protected him come what may, pay or no, danger or no, and he couldn't say why he felt a little crummy when he finally stepped into the kitchen.

Those words kept playing in his head, because it was true. Alfred stayed with Ludwig because he was paid to, on the surface. Was that why Ludwig said it so often? Did Ludwig really mean 'stay with me even when no one is paying you'? Alfred thought he had been making it clear that that was the case, but perhaps Ludwig hadn't caught that. Maybe Alfred hadn't worded everything precisely enough, hadn't said it enough.

This wasn't right.

Ludwig would never take him seriously as a partner like this, never, and it was entirely irrational but Alfred had abruptly gotten it into his head all the same to resign.

Look for a job, another job, anything, and protect Ludwig because he was in love with him and not because he was being paid. Maybe, just maybe, without the professional connection he could somehow find a way to win Ludwig over entirely and whisk him away out of this city. Wanted to go back to the country, out of this place, not home but somewhere that looked the same, and he could never do that if he was Ludwig's paid bodyguard. Gilbert would never let him go, never, and so Alfred felt like he needed to fess up to Gilbert.

It was stupid, probably, but love made men stupid. Just look at Ludwig, for Christ's sake.

If he told Gilbert the truth, Gilbert would fire him, and then Alfred could try to talk Ludwig into running away with him, as it was.

Ludwig had chosen Ivan over Gilbert...

Oh, god. He was stupid, so stupid, but he had already clung to the idea and just needed it to all work out the way he wanted it to. Wanted Ludwig to be with him, somewhere away from here, away from Ivan, away from this stress and coldness. Wanted to stop looking over his shoulder, wanted Ludwig to be able to go outside.

Wanted Ludwig to find some good reason to love Alfred enough to give up everything for him.

He must have been out of it, too quiet, because Ludwig reached across the table at breakfast and rested his palm atop Alfred's forehead, as if testing his temperature.

"Are you alright?"

Alfred nodded, and tried to assuage Ludwig by offering, "I'm just a little tired. Didn't sleep well."

Ludwig ran his hand from Alfred's forehead and down his cheek, but left it there, because Ludwig knew all about sleepless nights.

Alfred plotted away, mind whirring.

When Ludwig was safe behind his office door, Alfred stood out in the hall for a long while, fretting and pondering, and then he gathered his will and went up the elevator instead of down.

He went to Gilbert's office then, to risk everything.

If Ludwig didn't think that Alfred was a worthwhile long-term partner, then let it all be known now, right now, before Alfred put any more of his heart into this.

Feliciano and Lovino perked up when they saw Alfred coming, because it had been a long time since he had seen them.

"Hey!" Feliciano called, with a bright smile that was oddly pretty. "There you are! How's Ludovico?"

"Fine," Alfred answered, easily, as they looked him up and down.

Lovino quirked a brow, leered a little, and drawled, "Oh, I'm sure he is."

Alfred was too jittery and scared to roll his eyes, and tried to pump himself up a little by offering, "Your _princess_ is well cared for, I promise."

"I bet, I bet," Feliciano barely managed to squeak out, as he tried so hard to keep a straight face.

Lovino's sneering leer coulda sucked out someone's soul, he swore it.

With a deep breath, Alfred lifted his chin and plunged into the office. Gilbert wasn't in the first section, and Alfred hesitated in front of the second door, because Gilbert was quite fanatical and it was probably pretty dangerous to barge in entirely unannounced. Most unprofessional indeed. Couldn't whisk Ludwig away if Gilbert murdered him instead of firing him.

He tried to envision Ludwig sitting on the beach with him in warm wind, clung to that thin hope, and with another deep breath Alfred opened up the door.

In a second, Gilbert's eyes snapped up from his papers, that glass floor glinting away in the sun and casting crystal shards everywhere. Gilbert half-stood in his chair, papers falling to the desk as he immediately asked, in a much less deep voice, "What's wrong? What's happened? Where's Ludwig?"

That hint of panic there in Gilbert's wide eyes, the slightly frantic edge to his voice.

Gilbert _loved_ Ludwig, he did, and Alfred knew that now, but that didn't excuse anything Gilbert did.

To avoid a premature meltdown, Alfred said, "He's fine. Working. I just need to talk to you."

Gilbert sat back down, steeled his face, and all emotion was snuffed out.

"You could not be bothered to make an appointment?" Gilbert drawled, as he once more gathered up his papers, and Alfred snorted.

No, because he was essentially quitting, and no one needed an appointment for that.

Before Alfred could speak, Gilbert glanced up through his white lashes and murmured, "Something to report?"

"Yeah," Alfred affirmed, but it wasn't what Gilbert was thinking.

Had something to report alright, boy did he ever, and Gilbert wasn't gonna like it.

Calmly, Alfred merely said, as quietly as he could, "I need you to terminate my contract. Now."

This time, Gilbert's eyes narrowed dangerously, he looked angry, and Alfred braced himself for Gilbert's easily-earned wrath.

A simple, deadly whisper.

" _What_?"

Keeping Gilbert's steady gaze, Alfred replied, "I'm asking you to fire me."

He was ready for Gilbert's wrath, sure as hell was, and had braced his legs and shoulders for when Gilbert came charging at him to punch him in the face for having the gall to lay hands on his little brother.

"Dare I ask why?" Gilbert hissed, voice as dangerous as the lit fuse to a stick of dynamite, and Alfred tried to be brave.

"I can't work for you anymore. Circumstances have changed."

"Circumstances?" Gilbert repeated, voice ever the more dangerous somehow with every single syllable he uttered, and Alfred's heart was positively sprinting.

Here we go.

Gilbert didn't know what Alfred was about to tell him, but maybe he had a suspicion, maybe he had a hunch, maybe he could sense it there in the air, for he suddenly stood up. He placed his palms on his glossy black desk, leaning forward, and Alfred felt very much like a deer then, locked in the sights of a tiger. Gilbert was bristling, electric, nostrils flared and pupils dilated, absolutely ready to pounce at the slightest twitch. A scary son of a bitch for sure, terrifying, but Alfred stood his ground.

It had gone too far for Alfred to simply turn back.

So he met Gilbert's dangerous eyes, and admitted, "Fire me, because I don't want to be paid to protect my own lover."

Didn't say 'boyfriend' though it may have been more accurate, because Gilbert would have considered that term 'improper' and Alfred didn't wanna piss that bastard off any more than absolutely necessary.

Gilbert's wide eyes of utter shock, as his lips parted.

Had never seen anyone look so taken aback.

And then the dam suddenly broke, alright, and out flooded Gilbert's wrath.

Gilbert was stony, icy, purposeful, every move he made perfectly calculated, and so it actually shocked Alfred just how _fast_ Gilbert could be when he wanted to move. Good god—Alfred hadn't even blinked and suddenly Gilbert had pounced. Gilbert was so intent in that second on snapping Alfred in half that he didn't even go around the desk; he actually leapt over it. Jumped and skidded over his own goddamn desk, so eager was he to get his hands around Alfred's throat.

For the second time, Gilbert's pale knuckles came flying at his face, and that time Alfred clearly heard the loud, awful crack of his nose breaking. Probably the glasses, too, come to think, and they flew off his face and to the floor as Gilbert pounced on him.

Gilbert was shrieking at him, in a voice that was nearly as terrifying as Ivan's, but he was far too angry to form words in English. German was a really good goddamn language in which to scream someone into filth, for sure, and Alfred was fairly certain that he had gotten his wish and that Gilbert was firing him.

With that in mind, he found the courage to punch Gilbert right back.

A look of utter shock, as if no one had ever dared to actually hit Gilbert back. For merely a second though, as the gates of hell opened and Gilbert went entirely berserk on Alfred and an actual brawl ensued. Hadn't been punched that many times in as many seconds in his entire life, and that said a hell of a lot about how angry Gilbert was.

Gilbert was very determined to end Alfred, and Alfred was a little alarmed because Gilbert was incredibly strong and kept trying to get a hold of Alfred's gun.

That was around the time Alfred wondered why he was so fucking stupid, and why he could never keep his big mouth shut.

A sudden loud noise, new voices, shouting and harried, and then dark blurs came rushing in. Salvation; the guards had run in, and, after a very quick assessing of the situation, they bounded forward and leapt atop Gilbert to hold him back and pin him still.

Whew.

Feliciano and Lovino were what kept Alfred from having his neck broken along with his nose, but man! Did they ever look terrified as they tackled their own boss, and Alfred couldn't blame them, because their jobs dangled there on the line as Gilbert snarled like the dogs he had once been afraid of. Gilbert raised holy hell, fought tooth and nail to free himself from the brothers' clutches, and when Lovino had managed to get Gilbert on the floor and place a knee on his back, Feliciano pulled out his phone and made a call.

Alfred wiped the blood from his face as best he could, hands shaking, broken nose throbbing, and wondered now where the hell he went from here. Would need a job, and soon.

He just wanted to take Ludwig home.

Subdued by two sets of knees on his back, Gilbert finally stopped struggling, as Lovino murmured to him lowly, trying to calm him, and Feliciano glanced up to meet Alfred's eyes. His droll look clearly read, 'What the _fuck_ did you do?'

A little bit of everything.

Alfred waved his hand in the air dismissively, and Feliciano rolled his eyes before he and Lovino banded together to haul Gilbert to his feet. Lovino was yet muttering, trying to draw Gilbert's attention as Gilbert's head kept twitching in Alfred's direction. Alfred merely picked up his shattered glasses and tucked them into his breast pocket.

But Gilbert's rage had passed, as it always seemed to, and he was perfectly icy and stony once more when he pulled out his own phone. A quick call. Low words.

When Gilbert turned back to face Alfred, Lovino reached out and tangled a big hand in Gilbert's collar to hold him still, but Gilbert made no effort to lunge. Just tried to set Alfred on fire with his gaze, and then the door opened again.

This time, it was Toris who stepped inside hurriedly. He instantly took in the bloody scene, and asked, in a higher voice than Alfred was used to, "What is _happening_?"

Gilbert turned to look at him, but was very silent, and Feliciano was the one to grunt, "Sorry. I didn't know who else to call."

Gilbert's eyes flitted over Toris' head and back to the door, apparently waiting for something, and it became clear quickly why.

Ludwig came in, having no doubt been one the other end of Gilbert's call. He was rushing, too, no doubt startled by the lack of guards at the door. In his rush, Ludwig stumbled and tottered sideways with his vertigo, falling onto one knee before quickly pulling himself up.

His awful look of panic.

Well, then. Here they all were.

Gilbert spoke at last, as he turned to Lovino and Feliciano and said, sternly, "Back to your posts."

The brothers shared a reluctant look, but obeyed in the end, with so many people there and now that Gilbert seemed calm.

It was the four of them, then, and Ludwig looked frantically back and forth between bloodied Alfred and Gilbert, as if torn about who exactly he was more worried about.

Toris finally broke the impasse, by turning his eyes to Gilbert and saying, stiffly, "Murdering the bodyguard is counterproductive."

Gilbert lifted his chin, turned his frightening eyes to Ludwig, and hissed, very dangerously, "He's no longer a bodyguard. The terms of the contract have been broken."

Ludwig looked shocked and quite devastated. Toris just looked _annoyed_ , obviously irritated at this ambiguity.

Alfred spoke up at last, to say, coolly, "With all due respect, nowhere in my contract did it state that I wasn't allowed to fall in love."

Ludwig's awful inhale, as he realized that Gilbert knew.

Toris' mouth fell open in a strange sort of half-smile, as he gawked in disbelief between Ludwig and Alfred.

Ludwig hung his head, face scrunched up, and seemed to have been drained of all color. When he raised his eyes up to Gilbert, Alfred could see how terrified he was.

Toris, as creepily calm as ever, merely lifted a brow and drawled, derisively, "I did _not_ see this coming, I admit." Toris' pretty eyes flitted over to Ludwig, whose own dropped in what Alfred prayed wasn't shame. Toris sneered, turned his gaze instead to Alfred, and added, so softly, "The best laid plans..."

Alfred refused to flinch or budge, and held his ground.

Toris and Gilbert could howl all they wanted, could send their fiercest typhoon, but Alfred wouldn't bend, wouldn't bow, and wouldn't give Ludwig up.

Alfred could only wait to see if Toris and Gilbert would band together to throw him through that window as he had often feared.

Gilbert's gaze was still heavy atop Ludwig, and so Toris came forward a pace, staring Alfred down and asking, "So what exactly was this all about?"

"I wanted to be fired," Alfred supplied, trying to steady his hands and voice.

Ludwig's crinkled brow of hurt.

"Why's that?" Toris pried. "Too much pressure? Scared?"

"No. I'm going to keep protecting Ludwig. But on my terms. I don't want to answer to anyone but myself. I love him, and I'm gonna stay with him. If that means being fired, then so be it. That's all."

Considered it settled.

At that, Gilbert snapped his eyes away from Ludwig and to Alfred, bristled out once more and eyes wide beneath the blood smearing his skin. Looked as terrifying as Ivan like that, ruffled and wrathful, that dark blood contrasting so eerily with his pale skin. Gilbert twisted at the waist and turned to point his finger at Alfred, quite dramatically, and cried, "Absolutely _not_! I _forbid_ it! You hear? You have no place in this line—"

This line.

Ludwig had said that Gilbert considered their line sacred, and it was clear then for Alfred to see exactly how much Gilbert truly believed that, and Ludwig was once more tarnishing that sacred line with someone Gilbert deemed unfit. Ivan had never been close to good enough for Gilbert, and Alfred must have been even worse. At least Ivan had had money and power and brilliance, position, ambition. Alfred was...

Well. Gilbert had already told Alfred exactly what he thought of him.

Ludwig was as pale as a sheet, and Alfred hated seeing that terror on his face, as he swayed precariously back and forth under his vertigo.

Toris took a step to the side, putting himself in between Alfred and Gilbert, always the calm moderator, and spoke very softly when he asked, "And what exactly are your intentions? Hm? What do you plan on doing now for work? And who, I wonder, will protect Ludwig?"

"Me," Alfred grunted, thrusting out his chest and trying to appear commanding.

"How will you support yourself?"

"I—"

Alfred stopped short abruptly, and looked around the room a bit. He hadn't thought that far ahead because he was impulsive and brash, and Toris was very well aware of that.

He didn't want Ludwig to think that he was using him, didn't want Toris to think that Alfred didn't intend to work at all, but rather to merely leech off of Ludwig's wealth.

Everything in his head was mixed up. He was a wreck, as emotionally and mentally as Ludwig was, and it might have been very clear then for everyone to see.

Ludwig just stared over at Alfred miserably, looking yet so devastated.

In the end, Alfred finally said, weakly, "I just want to be with him. I don't want your money."

Toris lifted a droll brow, and Gilbert suddenly barged forward, bellowing, "No! Get _out_! You're _fired,_ as you wished! Get out, and don't come back, I never want to see you again, and don't you _dare_ think about putting your hands on my _brother_ —"

Alfred clenched his fists and prepared to throw down once more as Gilbert advanced on him, but yet again found himself saved by Toris, who snatched Gilbert's collar and dragged him back. That time, fuming Gilbert actually struggled in Toris' grip, as Ludwig ever swayed. Gilbert tried hard to march on Alfred, and Toris was forced to take Gilbert's face into his hands and press his lips against Gilbert's ear.

What Toris whispered to Gilbert then, Alfred could only imagine.

This sacred line that traced back one thousand years, ending here upon the shoulders of a young man that had never stood a chance.

Sometimes, maybe lines were meant to end.

When Gilbert stopped thrashing and started muttering back to Toris, Ludwig took a step towards Alfred, looking confused and lost. Alfred waved his hand in the air, trying to convince him to come the rest of the way.

Ludwig made it one more step before Gilbert suddenly grabbed his arm, pulled him up to his chest, and began hissing at him in German.

Toris took charge of Alfred once more, and laid down the law.

"This is highly inappropriate. And I think you're remarkably out of line. You should really learn your place, and I wish more than anything that I could put you there. With that said, well. It's all a bit too late, isn't it. Here we are. Too much now has been said and done. Until those papers are signed or this ends another way, you are to remain on retainer. Your contract is not terminated. This is your job, for as long as _I_ say it is. You can't quit until I tell you that you can quit. That's all. It's as simple as that. The sooner you get rid of this problem, the sooner we can all sit down and figure something out. Until then, this is your charge, and he will be until I say otherwise."

And that was that.

Toris gave no room for argument, and Alfred lowered his eyes in defeat.

All of this had been a mistake.

'Get rid of this problem.' Alfred had _tried_ , he had, the gun had just been too damn heavy.

Gilbert shook Ludwig, laying down his own law no doubt, and Ludwig's squinted eyes gave away how hurt he was by whatever Gilbert was saying.

Gilbert still had hold of Ludwig when he turned to Alfred and spat, "Get out. Now."

From the look on Gilbert's face, that glass floor had Ludwig's name written all over it, could easily see it, and there was no way in hell.

Instead of leaving, Alfred marched forward, grabbed Ludwig's other arm, and demanded, simply, "Let him go."

Gilbert's look of wrath.

"How dare you—"

"I'm not fired, you said! So I'm still doing my job. Get off him. Now."

Alfred lowered his hand to the hilt of the gun Gilbert had procured him, and Toris scoffed, at the sheer audacity.

Oh, that awful look on Gilbert's face! Coulda frozen the entire Earth down to the very core.

Toris as always diffused the situation, by grabbing Gilbert's arm and pulling him back, as Alfred did Ludwig. The volatile siblings were parted without further violence, and Alfred felt clammy and nauseous. Wanted to get outta here, and yesterday, because Ludwig looked a breath away from either vomiting or bawling.

Obvious for all to see, no doubt, for Toris looked at Ludwig and said, "Go home for the day."

Alfred needed no further prodding, and began dragging Ludwig out of the office with a shaky exhale.

In the end, it was only because Gilbert and Toris hated Ivan so much that they finally stepped back and let events unfold as they would. Presently, they still had power over Alfred, as his employers, and therefore still had control over Ludwig. Ivan was uncontrollable, and so Gilbert didn't snap Alfred's neck, didn't scrub Ludwig out of the will, and Toris just grimaced and shook his head but didn't berate Ludwig verbally and didn't throw Alfred from the office window.

Ludwig was so quiet.

Alfred was grateful, above all else, that Gilbert hadn't replicated the past and gave Ludwig one more ultimatum :

Everything, or Alfred.

Ludwig had chosen Ivan without question, sure, but Alfred? He wasn't so sure where he stood in Ludwig's eyes, but didn't think it was quite that great. Alfred had no security blanket.

As they walked down the street in a stupor, Ludwig asked, suddenly, "Why did you do that?"

Because he was fuckin' stupid.

Instead of being painfully honest, Alfred muttered, "I'm sorry. I just... I don't want you to be my job. I want you to be with me because you wanna be, not because you haveta be. I didn't want— I wanted ya to know that I love ya, that I ain't here just because someone is paying me."

Alfred stared straight ahead, too afraid to look over.

A long, awful silence, before Ludwig finally murmured, "I already knew that."

Feeling so dumb, ridiculous, Alfred just repeated, "I'm sorry."

They went home, sat down, Ludwig tended Alfred's broken nose, and didn't speak for hours. Alfred had yet again screwed up just about everything possible, and was ashamed of himself. Almost didn't want Ludwig to see him, and retreated quickly into the bedroom in the late afternoon to hide away under the blankets.

It surprised him a little when Ludwig crawled in the bed with him an hour or so later, hunkering down and burrowing into him.

Again, Alfred uttered, "I'm sorry."

A long silence, before Ludwig ran a hand down his shoulder, and whispered, deeply, "I love you."

The first time Ludwig had ever said that.

Alfred rolled onto his side, embraced Ludwig, and they passed that awful day away hiding from the world.

Gilbert didn't text Alfred anymore after that day, not even for a report, likely because he found Alfred just that repulsive. Toris was the one who asked for updates, and Alfred knew that they were now more impatient than ever as they awaited Alfred's justifiable act of homicide.

So they could gladly fire him without risking Ludwig.

He wasn't granted a chance, for Ivan hadn't made an appearance since he had stared Alfred down before the office building.

June ended, and July came around, bringing with it Alfred's birthday.

They had attempted to pretend nothing had ever happened, Ludwig and Alfred, and had mostly put it behind them. Alfred pretended he wasn't a dumbass, and Ludwig pretended that everything would be alright and that Gilbert had accepted it and would let him be happy.

Ludwig didn't know fully why Gilbert and Toris had let Alfred leave the office that day, what they were waiting for.

Didn't matter, when Alfred woke up that morning to Ludwig kissing him and playing with his hair. As soon as he opened his eyes, Ludwig immediately murmured, "Happy birthday. Feel old yet?"

Alfred scoffed, and grumbled, "Yeah, I do. You've worn me out."

Ludwig smiled, and kissed him again.

After breakfast, Ludwig snuck up behind Alfred and then reached around him to hold out a little box. A birthday present. Ha. It was kinda funny that Ludwig didn't know how very unaccustomed Alfred was to receiving a birthday present. More often than not, his birthday had been entirely forgotten, even by himself.

It was small box, velvet, and Alfred teased, as Ludwig wrapped arms around his neck from behind, "Are you finally proposing to me?"

As soon as he said it, Alfred regretted it. Hadn't thought about it, really, but Ludwig's silence was telling to how that might have stung.

But Ludwig pulled it together quickly, and threw back, "You wish."

Yeah. Maybe. There would be a proposal one day, for sure, but Alfred wanted to be the one to get down on one knee and make a show of it.

Alfred opened up the box, and hissed air threw his teeth.

A watch, and a ridiculously expensive one at that. Jesus Christ.

Ludwig buried his face in Alfred's hair, and muttered, "You don't have to wear it if you don't like it. You can sell it, if you want."

A sting of his ego and pride.

Toris had thrown out Alfred's precarious financial situation without them, and maybe Ludwig was trying too hard to remedy that. Without these men, he was destitute once more, everyone knew that, and it was hurtful to his hopes of whisking Ludwig off, knowing that Ludwig was the one who was the breadwinner. Alfred could never support Ludwig like he was used to, and staring down at the watch reminded Alfred of that.

But it was a gift from Ludwig, who he loved, so Alfred said, honestly, "I love it. Thanks."

Wouldn't sell it, ever, however bad things got. Something from Ludwig he would have kept until the end of the Earth.

Once more, Alfred passed the day in a daze, thinking too much and feeling vulnerable.

He loved Ludwig, and wished that he could have been better for him.

A better man.

As Alfred walked back from the office shortly after, he glanced up, and fell still when he walked past a travel agency. Didn't know why. He saw the poster of mountains there, felt a pang of homesickness, and let his mind wander.

Home.

Couldn't go outside here, because it was dangerous. Ludwig was cooped up. Stressed.

Alfred was impulsive, very much so, and so he randomly walked into that agency. He walked out two hours later, with a little envelope. He twisted it over and over in his hands as the clock ticked, and when he went to pick Ludwig up, he felt a little queasy with anticipation.

Ludwig didn't notice, too busy eyeing the trees wistfully as the sun shined overhead.

Then night came, and Alfred took the envelope out from a drawer, clenched it in his hands, and took a breath for courage.

Ludwig chatted away over dinner, oblivious to Alfred's anxiety.

It was the most nervous Alfred had been in a long, long time, when he finally handed the envelope over to Ludwig across the table, during a moment of comfortable silence. Ludwig quirked a brow, took it, and opened it quickly up.

"What's this?" he asked, as he pulled out the tickets.

Alfred shifted and shuffled, and probably looked as nervous as he felt, finally uttering, "It's my birthday, ya know, so I thought I'd..."

Ludwig glanced up, smiling, and teased, "You're giving me a present on your birthday? I think you're confused."

"You make me that way," Alfred honestly said, without thinking, and Ludwig seemed a bit abashed, embarrassed, lowering his eyes back down.

"So," Ludwig murmured, after a study of the destination. "You want to go home for a while?"

"Yeah. I thought— We don't have to go, if you don't want. I just thought it would be nice to spend a week down there. I was gonna take you on a little road trip through the mountains. Stay in a cabin, maybe, out in the woods. It's nice there. You'll like it."

Vague memories from childhood, on the very rare trips his parents had taken them on, to the Appalachian mountains. Mist and fog in the morning, over the multicolored trees in the cool air of fall. Nostalgia. Fireflies in the trees towards the end of summer.

The gold light of the sun streaming in through the leaves. Dust.

Ludwig's smile softened, and his expression was quite calm when he looked up at Alfred and said, quietly, "I can't wait."

Relief.

The next day, Ludwig put in for a long overdue week of vacation, probably to Gilbert's fury, and Alfred once more felt himself rising up in hope.

Nine days later, they were taking suitcases to the airport, and Alfred was in the clouds long before the plane actually took off. How surreal and beautiful it was, sitting next to Ludwig on a flight and knowing where they were going. He had a cabin ready, a rental car, everything, and Ludwig stared happily out of the plane window as Alfred could have burst with elation.

Ludwig was practically beaming with they landed in Charlotte, and Alfred was very puffed out when he took the door of the rental car, opened it with a flourish, and teased, with a bow, "Welcome to my domain."

Ludwig snorted, rather snootily got in the car and crossed his long legs, as Alfred shut the door like Ludwig was in fact a princess.

The drive was absolutely dreamy, perfectly otherworldly, as Alfred saw familiar sights and signs for the first time in ten years.

Going home, more or less.

The mountains came after a few hours, and Ludwig perked up and gawked out of the window so happily. The countryside rolling by, forests and cliffs and little waterfalls.

When they were deep in the Appalachian mountains, Alfred drove Ludwig up to their final destination; that little cabin, hidden so far out in the woods, no other building visible at all.

Ludwig's smile was bright, endless, constant, crinkling his eyes and showing his teeth. He was more beautiful than the scenery, and Alfred stared over at him for a long while after he cut the ignition of the car. Ludwig was positively bouncing in his seat in a very rare show of emotion, probably because he was just so relieved and happy to be able to go _outside_ and know that it was safe to do so. There was no Ivan here, and Ludwig had no need to fear the sounds of the forest.

The only thing Ludwig needed to be afraid of here was the mosquitoes, and they laughed a little bit as they ran and screeched during the long process of taking the bags into the cabin while fighting away the hoards.

Alfred was prepared for that, too, and teased Ludwig relentlessly as he sprayed him head to toe with mosquito repellant.

A small price to pay.

The heat wasn't so bad, but the humidity was killer, and poor Ludwig was sweating up a storm by the time they had walked around the woods a little and found a spot they liked. A clearing in the trees atop a hill, where the mountains farther in the distance were visible.

When they sat down and Alfred smoothed back Ludwig's disheveled hair, Alfred considered this 'their place'.

Somewhere that they could run away to, somewhere just for them, a secret spot that neither Ivan nor Gilbert knew about, somewhere to hide away from the world and its problems.

When the sun began setting later, the fireflies came out, lighting up the trees all around them in a great blaze of blinks. So many of them, so many, more than Alfred remembered, and Ludwig's eyes swept over the trees, soft smile somehow prettier than the beaming one.

Ethereal, in some dumb way, for how simple it all was.

Ludwig didn't need the bells and whistles.

An owl hooted somewhere, birds called and chattered as they settled for the night, the pines swayed in the warm wind of summer, and the moon hung on high. This time, when the sounds from within the forest broken the silence, Ludwig didn't flinch, didn't panic, and that was Alfred's favorite part so far of this entire venture.

Ludwig smiled, serenely, and leaned over to rest his head on Alfred's shoulder.

"Do you like it here?" Alfred finally gathered the courage to ask, and Ludwig made a deep, rumbling noise of contentment in his chest.

"I love it," Ludwig supplied, and Alfred felt that old hope surge up.

Wanted to live in a place like this, home, with Ludwig right here next to him.

This was what he wanted the rest of their lives to feel like. Wanted every day to be like this, as they sat side by side on a blanket atop green grass, warm against each other as the wind blew through the trees all around them. Just them, and no one else, in their own universe, where nothing ever went wrong or fell apart.

Alfred was in love, and soon he would ask Ludwig to create a home with him.

Soon.

Gilbert knew. Toris knew. Ivan knew. They were established, a true couple. There seemed to be nothing left to hold them back. Alfred didn't have anything to be afraid of, because Ludwig had said that he loved him.

Fireflies.


	20. Night Owl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N : I kind of consider this chapter the beginning of the second arc, although two chapters from now would likely be a better first-arc-finale. What I'm really saying is : the soap opera begins shortly.

**Chapter 20**

**Night Owl**

Fall.

One year now that Alfred and Ludwig had known each other.

The most pivotal year of Alfred's existence, for sure, realizing what it was like to have someone love him. To protect someone and not fail. His second chance seemed secure, as Ludwig was always well protected within his hands.

Once again, Ivan had vanished from sight for months on end, and once again, Alfred had started letting down his guard a little. Alfred had seen no more shadows, no more unwavering stares from alleys, no more phone calls, nothing at all. Ivan had vanished into thin air like the phantom he was, and Ludwig was burning ever brighter.

Alfred did still hope sometimes that he would leave the office building and Ivan would be standing there, ready to come forward and hand over a bunch of signed divorce papers.

Never happened.

Gilbert had yet to speak to Alfred since their altercation, and Toris was ever impatient. What could Alfred really do? He didn't know where Ivan was. Not his goddamn fault that the big bastard wasn't coming forward and offering himself up for a bullet.

Alfred had long since studied Ludwig's wedding ring, put it upon a paper and traced the circle so that he would know the precise size, and let his mind wander. He found himself from time to time wandering the streets as Ludwig worked, and stopping to look in through windows of jewelry shops. He mulled it over, endlessly, and yet always hesitated.

Couldn't say why, really, when Ludwig had been so compliant with everything Alfred did.

Was it still too soon? There were people out there that proposed after knowing their partner for only a month or two. Stupid, yeah, but people were stupid and so was Alfred.

Despite that, he yet hesitated, and bought no ring.

Wondered occasionally where Ivan's engagement ring was. Perhaps Ivan hadn't bought one, preferring merely the most traditional ring. Perhaps it had been lost somewhere down the hectic line, or, more likely, Ludwig might have just had it hidden away somewhere where no one would ever find it and try to take it away.

Locked up and safe from Gilbert.

On a more positive note, Ludwig talked endlessly about the mountains, seemed quite taken with them, and asked Alfred often when they would return. And, well, fall _was_ the best time to go, to see the leaves change color, and so Alfred made plans and Ludwig put in for his other week of vacation in October, on the week of his birthday.

Gilbert was probably having mini-strokes every day, as his little brother had the audacity to use vacation days and actually _vacation_ during them, rather than sit at home and continue working from behind the scenes as Gilbert no doubt did.

Would Gilbert have disowned Ludwig had Alfred proposed?

In the end, however much Gilbert had _hated_ Ivan, Gilbert had just loved Ludwig too much to ever really let him go. Alfred couldn't have been that much worse, truly. Was the shame of Alfred's dirt-poor, unrefined origin worse than someone like Ivan? Gilbert would get over it in time, just like he had when he had cracked and called Ludwig after kicking him out.

So Alfred plotted away, gathered his courage, his will, and daydreamed frequently, even as he once more took Ludwig to the airport.

Ludwig's beautiful smile was excited, full of anticipation, and so who cared if Gilbert thought Alfred was dirt? Ludwig loved it out there, and Gilbert was inconsequential.

Alfred did tease that time, as Ludwig happily traveled along, "How come you're not freakin' out in here?"

Ludwig shrugged a casual shoulder, and supplied, "I don't know. I can't see the ground in detail from here, maybe. I don't know. I've never been afraid of the planes. Who knows?"

Better for him, really. Ludwig's deathly fear of heights would have been a total mood killer otherwise. Couldn't imagine him having a panic attack at 35, 000 feet. Maybe it was just being able to see the motion of the world passing normally beneath him that caused that fear.

Planes? Okay. Skyscrapers? No thanks.

Alfred logged that away into his little Ludwig manual book.

This time, on the road trip to the mountains, Alfred stopped frequently along the way, at lookouts and little shops, because it was endearing to see Ludwig hop out of the car and stalk around so eagerly. He loved the sights, the people, the atmosphere, and said to Alfred at one point, 'Everyone here sounds like you. I love it.'

Alfred's ego shot up.

That little cabin waited for them, hidden within the multicolored foliage of the fall forests.

It was very misty in the mornings, and Ludwig would sit out on the porch, hands clasped in his lap and staring off into the trees. Alfred would stare at Ludwig, and pictured this being their marital home.

Sometimes, his daydream didn't seem so far off, so absurd, especially when Ludwig looked so happy.

On the third day of their little vacation, they took a long hike, hours and hours lost up in the trees, finding creeks and waterfalls and lookouts. The mosquitoes weren't as prevalent that time, with the colder air, and moods were bright. Too bright, maybe; Alfred had scared the living daylights out of Ludwig when he had decided that he wanted to attempt to scale the rocky ledge alongside a short waterfall.

It wasn't all that high, but Ludwig still stood beneath him, hands on hips as he called, "Alfred! Stop it! You get down from there right now!"

Alfred made it to the top, looked back down at Ludwig, and retorted, "The world is lot cooler when you're not afraid of anything."

The plane was alright, yes, but clearly climbing up something was not, and Ludwig huffed and fretted down below until Alfred came back down.

When he dropped back down to the lower ground, Alfred smoothed back his hair, shot Ludwig a wink, and said, "I gotta live for the both of us."

Ludwig punched his shoulder, and chastised, "You'll die for the both us, too."

"Yeah," Alfred uttered, thoughtlessly, because he woulda gladly gone to that length to keep Ludwig safe.

But Ludwig rolled his eyes, and they wound their way back.

Alfred's courage was steadily fortifying.

Ludwig loving the mountains of home so much gave Alfred a ridiculous amount of hope that maybe, just maybe, Ludwig really would be willing to come home with him one day.

When they came back into the cabin, Alfred lit the fireplace, and dragged Ludwig down onto the fur rug. Ludwig very complacently fell into Alfred's arms, as usual, and before long Ludwig's head was rested in Alfred's lap.

Alfred contemplated Ludwig as Ludwig ran palms over his forearms, and then he abruptly asked, "What would you think about living here? Or in Kitty Hawk, maybe. We could drive here from there. Get a little cabin, just for us. Spend the winter here and summer at the beach."

Alfred's dream.

Ludwig's eyes ran over his face, analyzing him as he frequently did, judging his sincerity perhaps, and then Ludwig whispered, "That sounds like a great dream."

Didn't have to be a dream, if Ludwig would say 'yes'.

Before Alfred could really pry a little more out of Ludwig, Ludwig had very strongly grabbed his shoulders and yanked him down. Ludwig could be sneaky sometimes, for sure, because Alfred couldn't say how he had wound up on his back with Ludwig atop him.

Eh—no complaints there.

As they packed up days later to leave the mountains behind, Ludwig lingered in front of the car, and turned to look at the cabin from over his shoulder.

A long, mournful stare, and when they were driving, Ludwig suddenly murmured, "It _would_ be nice to live here."

Elation was what Alfred felt then, he was sure of it.

He started taking it very to heart then, that dream, and spent the time before he fell asleep imagining all of the different scenarios that could bring them happiness. They didn't have that in their own worlds outside of each other, and had to come together in order to feel it.

Their place.

Winter came again.

Alfred and Ludwig spent the nights curled up on the couch, laptop on Alfred's lap as they played around a little and looked at cabins for sell in the mountains. Homes in Kitty Hawk. Alfred didn't know how serious Ludwig really was, but his heart pounded every time Ludwig pointed a long finger at the screen and said, 'I like that one.'

He didn't know if Ludwig was humoring him, if Ludwig was only desperate to get away from Gilbert and the memory of Ivan. Didn't know if Ludwig really loved him that much or if Ludwig was using him as a means of escape, but Alfred was just pitiful enough to not care in the slightest.

Perhaps Ludwig was more serious than Alfred had thought.

One pale, cold day in the beginning of December.

Started so normally, and Alfred had clenched Ludwig up and rolled them back and forth as he liked to, as Ludwig smiled and kissed Alfred's now slightly crooked nose. Normality, and that was spectacular.

After breakfast that morning, Ludwig went into the bedroom and vanished for a while, and when Alfred went in to check on him, he was absolutely astounded to see Ludwig gathering up boxes and gently folding Ivan's clothes and putting them up.

A pang of wonderful adrenaline. Awe.

Ludwig glanced over his shoulder, saw Alfred there, and smiled, a bit sadly. Incredible progress, it really was, and Alfred leaned there in the frame and watched Ludwig gingerly packing Ivan's clothes up.

The love he felt for that man was quite potent.

When Ludwig was finished a while later, he set the boxes in the closet, where the shoes and guitar lied, and said to Alfred, "If he ever decides to sign, I'll give them to him."

Alfred smiled, and nodded.

When Ludwig was cooking dinner, Alfred crept back into the room, and nosily inspected the boxes, just to see how much Ludwig had been willing to part with. Clothes, naturally, shoes. Notebooks. Sketchpads. A little box; when Alfred opened it, there was a watch inside, that Alfred hadn't seen before. But no photos, and no ring.

Ludwig would keep those, no doubt, and sure enough when Alfred opened the dresser, there that wedding photo still lied, the ring yet atop it.

Well. Supposed Ludwig shouldn't have been expected to pretend Ivan didn't exist. Should have let him have something to remember him. For good or bad, Ivan had been important to Ludwig, they had been in love, and that wasn't easily forgotten.

Let him keep them; Ivan's time was over, and Alfred's began.

The very next day, as soon as Alfred dropped Ludwig off, he went straight out to peruse the jewelry shops.

His time.

But god, there were no words ineloquent Alfred knew that could have ever described the way his throat clenched up and his chest tightened and his stomach squirmed when the first ring was brought out to him from behind the glass. Observing it up close, feeling it in his palm, twisting it in his fingers and having it catch the light.

Knowing where it would soon sit.

Ludwig would say 'yes', he had to, just had to, everything had been leading up to it and there was no possible way that there had been such a grand misunderstanding between them. Alfred was putting his entire heart into this, and Ludwig would know it and respond accordingly. Maybe, even, if Alfred proposed, then maybe Ludwig would gather the courage to call Ivan and press him personally for those divorce papers, and perhaps with Ludwig rejecting him Ivan would at last fold.

So much of Alfred's dreams rested upon the decisions of other people.

Alfred took a good long hour to look over every ring in that shop, and eventually settled on one he liked. Nothing preposterous or extravagant, no, nothing that Ludwig really deserved because Alfred just couldn't afford it. Merely a simple little band, silver to contrast with Ivan's gold one, with little sapphires studded along. Reminded him of Ludwig, silver and blue, and so he settled on it and pulled out his wallet.

Alfred wasn't entirely sure if he wanted to laugh, cry, or throw up when the jeweler told him to come pick it up in seven days. Felt too soon and far too late. Ludwig didn't notice that Alfred was jittery and nervous, because Alfred was always a little jittery and hyper, loud and always moving, so anxiety was easy to hide.

Counting down the days was nerve-wracking.

Seeing Ludwig smiling at him so happily from across the table and praying that that smile wouldn't drop the second Alfred did down to his knee.

Was he stupid?

He had a nightmare that night of Ludwig rejecting him, laughing at him, and found himself unable to meet Ludwig's eyes in the morning as Ludwig kissed his nose.

Another day of anxiety passed without Ludwig noticing, as Alfred went from elation down into absolute panic. Suddenly, it didn't matter how soon the ring was ready, because Alfred intended to stash it up in his unused room and regroup.

The clock ticked.

On that dreaded and wonderful seventh day, Ludwig finally looked at Alfred over coffee, and asked, coolly, "Are you ever going to tell me what's the matter with you?"

Alfred jumped a little, sat up straight, and smiled out of nervousness. Ah—guess Ludwig had noticed after all, but had chosen to hold his tongue.

To lie, or not to lie?

Ludwig stared him down, in that stern and piercing manner that his big brother had instilled in him, and Alfred finally said, somewhat honestly, "Nah. It's a surprise."

Alfred was many shitty things, but a good liar was not one of them.

Ludwig lifted a brow, snorted a little, and left it there with a simple and succinct, "I'm sure I'm looking forward to it."

A rush of confidence that Alfred desperately needed.

It dampened a bit when Alfred realized that it was Ludwig that morning who actually looked a little down and out, a little dreary, a little sad. Alfred was too unbalanced by his own insecurity to pry that time and ask Ludwig in turn what was bothering _him_.

Had to be positive, happy, because the ring would be in his hands today.

And, several hour later, it was.

Alfred stood up on his toes and reached out for the box with both hands as if he were being handed the Hope Diamond itself. The jeweler gave an airy snort, and merely said, as Alfred retreated, "Good luck."

Oh, he was gonna need it.

He skittered home, tucked the ring safely away in his room, bounced around on his heels a little in a strange mixture of excitement and utter horror, and then he went to pick Ludwig up.

It was snowing again, and despite that it was easy to see that Ludwig was still in a bit of a dreary mood. Ludwig loved snow, but still looked so sad. Couldn't have that!

When Alfred collected Ludwig that time, he held out Ludwig's coat, then bowed stupidly at the waist and offered, "Would you accompany me out to dinner?"

Ludwig narrowed his eyes suspiciously, and was quick to insinuate, "Sick of my cooking, are we?"

"Hardly! Don't you ever get tired? Take a night off. Let me treat you."

Ludwig looked no less suspicious, but did seem to perk up a little. Alfred may not have ended up proposing tonight, or tomorrow, or for the next three years, but he would keep Ludwig's head well above the water until then.

Alfred was not a classy diner, needless to say, and was quick to force Ludwig to choose their destination. But Ludwig merely quirked a brow, and refused, by scoffing, "This is your date."

Goddammit.

Alfred made Ludwig pay for that poor decision, and led that snooty bastard straight to the cheapest Chinese restaurant in town. Not where men like Gilbert and Toris would ever be caught dead, and Ludwig did seem shocked. For just a second anyway, before he rolled his eyes, stood up straight and proud, and Ludwig looked strangely dignified as he and Alfred leaned against the building wall outside and ate out of takeaway boxes, snow falling all over the city.

Ludwig wasn't pretentious like his brother.

Somewhere along the line, Ludwig snorted and laughed, smiled, and when Alfred looked over at him, Ludwig twirled his chopsticks in his food and murmured, happily, "This was a good date."

Alfred watched the snow collecting in Ludwig's hair, and smiled, too.

They spent a good hour there, chatting and freezing, and somehow Alfred had convinced Ludwig to go to a café with him for a warm-up coffee, but only because he was still too nervous to go home and face the music. Delaying something he wanted, because he was scared.

Ludwig absolutely knew by then that Alfred was up to something, but could never have known what, and so he abruptly asked, when they were tucked up comfortably in a café, "What do you want for Christmas?"

Alfred played it off by teasing, somewhat seriously, "You. Preferably without clothing."

Ludwig's face blazed red, for the first time in a long while, and he quickly scoffed and lowered his eyes as Alfred successfully distracted Ludwig yet again. Whew.

When the coffee was gone, Alfred led Ludwig aimlessly along the streets, biding more time, and Ludwig glanced over at him frequently. Alfred was pretty sure that Ludwig was smirking. Ludwig could sense Alfred's nervousness, white wolf that he was, and was enjoying it.

Alfred glanced at the time then, realized that it was nearly ten, and it was probably time to go home.

He could do this, he _could_ , he could do it, all he had to do was get down on one knee, just that, couldn't've been that damn hard—

Ludwig's house was suddenly in sight, far too soon.

And Alfred was so nervous, so anxious, so jittery, that he didn't exactly realize that he had spent those entire hours with Ludwig without one single time glancing over his shoulder. Had been so lost in his head that he hadn't even been on guard, had forgotten momentarily that Ivan even existed.

He had distracted Ludwig, but he had also distracted himself.

But Ivan had neither been seen nor heard from in so _long_ , his ring was gone from Ludwig's neck, his shoes were put away, the piano was forgotten, and Alfred had assumed by then that Ivan had just given up and moved on. His own wishful thinking, maybe, but could anyone have blamed him? Honestly, he hadn't even thought about Ivan at all. He had such a routine formed with Ludwig that it didn't even really feel like he was a bodyguard anymore, and although in some manner of course he knew he needed to be observant, danger didn't feel very present.

Alfred never seemed to learn his lesson, however many times he was burned.

Alfred slowed his pace when the house was in sight, and Ludwig noticed that as well, for he suddenly rammed into Alfred's shoulder, playfully, throwing Alfred off balance. Alfred was quick to shove him back, and they knocked into each other's shoulders as they trudged along, and by then Alfred was beaming.

Stupid, but effective.

Confidence was always rising, and when they stood before Ludwig's small porch, Alfred turned to face him. Ludwig's pale skin was tinted blue under the streetlight, hair damp and coming loose, and Alfred abruptly blurted out, "Hey—you think we can honeymoon in Germany for Christmas?"

Ludwig's eyes widened and his lips parted.

Sometimes, when he was nervous, Alfred spoke his mind when he knew he shouldn't have. Luckily for Alfred, he had worded it just vaguely enough for Ludwig to be unable to discern the true meaning.

Maybe Alfred wasn't the only one who heard what he wanted to hear, though, for Ludwig suddenly broke into a wide, breathless smile, and the next thing Alfred knew Ludwig had pounced on him. Quite literally; Ludwig leapt on Alfred, tangling his long legs around Alfred's waist, and Alfred nearly ate the snow, thrown back by Ludwig's heaviness.

But ego came before all else, so Alfred somehow managed to hold Ludwig aloft without falling backwards, while at the same time somehow shoving his tongue down Ludwig's throat.

...what had he been doing?

Ah, who cared? All Alfred knew was that Ludwig was very heavy and very warm, and very happy apparently, and oh—! Right. That ring was upstairs, and if Ludwig's fingers tangled in his hair was any indication, now mighta been a really good time to actually bother giving it a go.

Somehow, who knew how, Alfred had actually stumbled back and made it up that little set of stairs, despite Ludwig kissing him so furiously that he couldn't even breathe. When they made it to the front door, Alfred staggered under Ludwig's weight, and his back slammed into the door as he fumbled blindly for his key and stabbed it just as blindly behind him for the lock. For a second there he actually stopped trying, because Ludwig's hands had crept down his back and into his pants, and, hello.

Goddamn lock wouldn't twist, however many times Alfred tried stabbing the key into it. Couldn't focus.

And then, somehow, despite that extremely hot daze, despite his absolute investment in Ludwig, something caught Alfred's attention.

Music.

Very faint, very muffled, and behind him. Odd. For just a second, one second, he ignored it, because he assumed that he had left the radio on when he had gone out, wouldn't be the first time, and his hand had kept on fumbling with that lock. Then Ludwig had allowed him to breathe for just a moment, turning his mouth instead to Alfred's neck, and somehow against his heavy breathing Alfred had actually managed to pay attention and listen.

That music was strange. Not their music. Not regular music.

Different.

Couldn't put his finger on it, not yet, but it was enough to jolt him awake and get the adrenaline flowing, enough to immediately toss ice-water on that fire, and in a second Alfred had all but dropped Ludwig to the ground, put a palm against his mouth to silence him, and rested his ear against the door.

Fuckin' music was coming from inside, for sure, and he could hear then, over Ludwig's deathly silence, that it sounded strange because it was very old music. A record player, scratching and warbling. Romantic music from decades and decades ago, from probably before Ludwig's parents had even been born, and Alfred felt the surge of panic.

Something was wrong.

In a second he whirled around, grabbed up terrified Ludwig in his arms, and bolted right back down the steps to the sidewalk, dragging Ludwig so furiously that Ludwig tripped on the steps and nearly fell. He looked around, trying to gather up his thoughts, and even though it was damn foolish, Alfred commanded, sternly, "Stay here," and meant to go back up to the door.

Ludwig's eyes widened, his pulse raced, and it was easy to see how alarmed he was then, although he didn't know yet of what. In a second, Ludwig had reached out to grab Alfred's coat, and breathed, in barely a hiss, " _No_. Alfred, no—don't. Call someone, please, but don't go alone."

Alfred was torn between the need to know and Ludwig's begging, his ego and pride and common sense waging war then. Wanted to barge right in and see what the hell was happening, wanted to kick Ivan's ass if that's who was in there, but at the same time he couldn't stand seeing Ludwig looking like that. It also kinda stung a bit that Ludwig didn't have enough confidence in Alfred to have him go it alone against Ivan.

Dammit.

In the end, Ludwig meant more than starting a fight, so Alfred relented, with a nod, and took a step back. Ludwig exhaled in relief, and Alfred pulled out his phone. When Ludwig said 'call someone', he of course meant Lovino or Feliciano. For once, Alfred was inclined to agree. Maybe it really was best, sometimes, when volatile Gilbert just didn't know, even if Ludwig was just trying to keep Ivan safe.

Anyway, between Lovino, Feliciano, and Alfred, three big guys, surely they could take Ivan down if he was in fact inside. Ivan may have been a tank, may have been crazy, but even he had limitations.

It did briefly cross Alfred's mind that he was once more evading his imposed duty, once more seeking ways to avoid murdering Ivan, though everything and everyone wanted him to. Alfred was very certain that he wanted to shoot Ivan, absolutely did, and yet when it came down to that wire, Alfred always backtracked.

Some part of him wasn't ready to be a murderer, even if it would have been best for everyone.

As always, Lovino answered Alfred's call on the first ring, and Alfred just said, "I need both of you over here. Now."

As always, Lovino needed no further explanation, and grunted, _"I'm on my way."_

Reliable, those two, if nothing else.

As before, scarcely ten minutes had passed before the brothers came roaring up, the tires of their vehicle skidding on the pavement and squealing. Lovino jumped out, hair messy and clothes disheveled as last time, but this time Feliciano looked perfectly pristine. His hair was combed and he had a suit on, and Alfred could smell the cologne a mile away, and when Feliciano saw Ludwig out on the street safe and sound, he griped to Alfred, "This better be good! I was on a date."

Alfred hissed, "Quiet!", and Feliciano instantly focused, hardened, sharpened, and Lovino lifted his chin. Ready for business, then, and Alfred was quick to explain, in a whisper, "I think he's inside the house."

Ludwig looked so scared, so pale, and Alfred liked to think that it was because Ludwig was scared of Ivan, and not because Ludwig was scared of someone shooting Ivan. Again, wishful thinking.

Lovino took charge, perhaps the most bull-headed amongst three mules, and pulled out his gun as he crept up to the door. Alfred and Feliciano followed, and Alfred glanced frequently over his shoulder to make sure that Ludwig was staying put and far back.

The key that Alfred had been unable to finish twisting was still in the lock, and Lovino took it in his hand and turned it. The little click of the lock opening seemed somehow ominous, and Alfred took a breath.

One final look back at Ludwig, who was standing on his toes in an effort to keep everyone in his sights.

Lovino grabbed the doorknob, turned it as quietly as he could, and then violently pushed it open and barged in, and all Alfred saw was red.

Red.

Didn't know why, didn't know from what, just the color red emanating from the house as if the door to hell had been opened. He was too dumbfounded for a moment to even take anything in, but knew something was awful enough when Feliciano, at the back, suddenly whirled around and shoved nosy Ludwig farther yet back onto the sidewalk.

Alfred plunged in behind Lovino, and instantly he kinda wished he hadn't.

Red.

Everywhere, a glow of red, and it took Alfred's shocked mind a damn long time to figure out why, to comprehend, to take it all in and understand.

Paint had been splashed on the walls, on the carpet, on the ceiling, over everything in sight. Crimson, angry, and on the wall directly in front of the door, above the sofa, there were white streaks, where someone had lifted their hand into the wet paint and formed letters.

Above the coffee table, hanging from the ceiling fan, were two nooses.

They swayed gently in the wind coming in from the open door.

A record player, warbling away from the kitchen. An old song, perhaps from the forties or fifties, a woman, her voice distorted and ethereal as the record turned. Must have been Russian. It was a beautiful song, but also unspeakably terrifying in the circumstance, and the hairs on Alfred's body stood up on end.

That eerie, unnerving warbling, as if from behind some frightening void of space.

Feliciano was the one to go room to room and clear the house, as Lovino and Alfred stood frozen there.

Lovino stared up at the words on the wall, eyes wide beneath his low brow, swallowing and looking both horrified and livid, and Alfred finally managed to get his brain working long enough to read the scrawled letters and understand them.

'ГAPPY ANNIVEЯCAPY.'

Barely legible, the writing was so bad, as crazed as the man who had written it. Had slipped up and used Russian letters here and there, because clearly Ivan's mind was steadily losing ever more grip on reality, on sanity.

But crazy Ivan must not have been here anymore, because Feliciano came back, and shook his head.

Missed him again.

Ludwig had suddenly pushed past everyone and came in, and the four of them were standing in a row, staring up at those letters as the nooses hung there before them.

Ludwig just stared up, face blank and entirely stoic, as Alfred came over protectively to his side.

Feliciano put his gun away, and muttered, under his breath, "Some gift."

Lovino scoffed, very humorlessly.

Ludwig's eyes lowered from the nooses then to the wall, to the ceiling, to the sofa, to the carpet, as he looked at his safe place suddenly covered in red. Utter violation. A falling of Ludwig's face, a pursing of his lips, the awful reddening of his eyes as water gathered there.

The worst part was that Alfred couldn't pinpoint the precise reason that Ludwig was upset, because the most obvious answer was never the correct one with Ludwig.

Happy anniversary.

That was why Ludwig had been so gloomy all day, Alfred realized, and it was incredibly selfish of him, but Alfred was almost _glad_ that Ivan had wrecked Alfred's plan. What a miserable damn cosmic joke it woulda been, for Alfred to unwittingly propose to Ludwig on his wedding anniversary. Would have blown up in Alfred's face so bad.

Feliciano grabbed Ludwig by the arm, perhaps for support, and Lovino finally drew his eyes from the words and swept them over the ruined living room. A low hiss, a curse, and Lovino muttered, "How the fuck are we gonna clean this up?"

A good question, but not one they would worry about tonight.

Alfred pulled out his phone, and started calling the police, because it had all suddenly gone too far. All those new locks Alfred had installed hadn't kept Ivan out, had been useless, and it was clear to see from the open backdoor that that was how Ivan had gotten in. Alfred had installed new bolts there, and it hadn't been enough, because Ivan was too determined.

He meant to dial.

A hand on his arm. He glanced up, to see Ludwig staring quite potently at him. Caught under that stern but heartbroken gaze, Alfred merely stood still as Ludwig reached down and took his phone out of his hand before he could dial.

Alfred's stomach sank, as Ludwig shook his head.

They had come so _far_. Alfred had given everything he had to Ludwig, everything, and had fooled himself into thinking that Ludwig had given Alfred every bit of himself in turn.

That ring Alfred had hidden in his room.

He had assumed that Ludwig had let Ivan go so that he could become Alfred's. That wasn't true—Ludwig still loved Ivan, through it all, underneath everything, and even as they stood now in that red haze, Ludwig once more refused to press charges against his husband. Husband. That was right. Alfred had stopped thinking of Ivan as Ludwig's husband because he had pretended that he had successfully filled that role. Ivan wasn't needed anymore, so wasn't really Ludwig's husband.

He _was_ , and Ludwig loved him.

Ludwig had said once that he would rather be on the street than see Ivan in jail, and it shattered Alfred's confidence and security in this relationship to realize in that moment that that hadn't changed.

Alfred had deluded himself, as he so often had before.

That ring had been a mistake, because the papers hadn't been signed, and until they were Ludwig would never truly release his emotional grip on Ivan.

Ludwig erased the numbers Alfred had put in, turned the phone off, and slid it wordlessly into Alfred's pocket. Alfred was too disheartened and hurt to argue, and turned to stare blankly at the wall.

Alfred just wasn't ever quite good enough.

Feliciano suddenly inhaled, grimaced, and placed his hand on Ludwig's back as he uttered, quietly, "Come on. You guys can stay with us for now. Until we get this all sorted out. Alright? Let's get outta here. Let's worry about it tomorrow, alright?"

Alfred and Ludwig were stunned, dazed, easy to wrangle, and the next thing Alfred knew they were in the backseat of Lovino's car, and then suddenly they were being led into a house.

Loud voices. Too many people. A large Italian family, in a little house, but Lovino still led them upstairs and said, gruffly, "Take my bed, tonight. I'll crash on the couch. Tomorrow, we'll get some new locks or something. We'll come over this weekend and try to help ya get all that paint out."

Ludwig nodded away dumbly, and breathed, "Thank you."

Lovino shut the door, and was gone.

Alfred didn't know what to do or say, so he took his coat and boots off and crawled wearily into bed, collapsing on his back. Ludwig followed suit, and it was very awkward, staring up at the ceiling in unison as the raucous family below carried on with their lives quite normally.

Silence.

It wasn't a great feeling, sleeping in a stranger's house, and particularly under such circumstances. Having nowhere at all that was truly safe, because every single time they stopped looking over their shoulders, they paid for it in the worst way.

Happy anniversary. Couldn't get that out of his head.

Those nooses.

Until death do us part.

They lied in silence for a very long time, before Alfred suddenly said, out of nowhere, "I want to tell you something. I haven't— I've never told anyone."

Ludwig loved Ivan, still did, despite all Alfred had done, and Alfred couldn't keep it in anymore. Needed Ludwig to understand him at long last, and if that still didn't make Ludwig love him all the way, then maybe if nothing else it would give Ludwig a clearer picture of why Alfred tried so _hard_.

Maybe it would even give Ludwig a clearer picture of his own future, if he kept refusing to press charges.

Ludwig didn't say a word, but reached out to grab Alfred's hand in a silent assurance that he was listening.

Alfred swallowed, found his courage, inhaled, and for the first time in his life, he told someone his own story.

His own movie played then, for Ludwig.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (The song I had in mind is on YT, I recommend giving it a listen, as it is quite nice : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ui092EcWHvM)


	21. Hometown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N : This is the only long chapter, I promise.

**Chapter 21**

**Hometown**

Alfred had been born in the trailer park.

Later on in life, Alfred would tell everyone who asked that he was from Kitty Hawk, but that wasn't perfectly true; he was from across the bridge and farther out, from Harbinger. Even more perfectly true, Alfred had actually been born in Cherokee, before his family uprooted when he was five and headed East. Kitty Hawk was classier, famous, had a grand name attached to it, reputation, and it was right down the road and Alfred had spent every afternoon there, had slept there sometimes on the beach, so why not say he was from Kitty Hawk?

Technically, however, Alfred had been lying.

He had been born in a trailer park that was loud and falling apart, a drug den, and it wasn't even an exaggeration—he had literally been born _in_ the trailer park. His mother had been alone when she had gone into labor, with no car, and she was half-drugged at the time so she had just lied in the bathtub and screamed to no one. Alfred had had a rough start in life, from absolute day one, and it hadn't gotten better.

She had never really seemed to want Alfred much, but kept him anyway so that she could get more government benefits. Alfred was just more money to spend on drugs, and so he was welcome to stay. Wasn't exactly doted upon, though.

His father didn't care much more for Alfred than she had, and Alfred couldn't really remember many happy times at all growing up. Until he had been two, and his little sister had been born. She was the only thing Alfred had to look forward to, something he could love and care for, something he could be affectionate with.

Her name was Marguerite, but Alfred had always called her Meg.

She was blonde and blue-eyed, just like Alfred, and he was taken with her.

His mother liked Meg more, was more affectionate and doting (just a little), and it was clear enough that she liked having a daughter far more than she had a son. Which wasn't to say very much. His father had felt that way, too, and Alfred would have been jealous perhaps, would have been bitter, if they both hadn't been so horrible.

Awful nights, passing with screaming and crying and shrieking.

His father and mother both used drugs, both drank themselves into stupors, fought and argued, and so frequently it ended with Alfred's mother crying in ball in the kitchen corner as his father beat her with his belt. Alfred hid in the bedroom with Meg, pulling a blanket over them and pretending they were somewhere else. He did his best to keep her from crying, but was rarely successful.

They were always together, always hand in hand.

Then Alfred was five, and his parents packed up their meager belongings, threw them in the back of the rickety car, and drove them across the state to the sea. They settled in another trailer park in Harbinger, and Alfred had instantly been taken with the ocean. Loved it from first sight, and maybe that was the first time Alfred could remember that he had been kinda happy. Hopeful.

That maybe life would be better now that they were in a new place.

It wasn't.

Terrifying shrieking, screeching, fighting. They were always arguing, and seemed to hate each other. Some nights, Alfred would peer out of his bedroom, to see his mother sitting on the floor, propped up against the wall, his father beside her, and he could never really understand why she looked so happy when she pushed the tip of a syringe into her arm.

Needles were inherently frightening.

All Alfred knew was that when the needles came out, the screaming got worse. It became force of habit, that when Alfred looked out and saw the needle, that he grabbed Meg's hand and pulled her into the closet, where they hunkered down under the blanket.

He told her stories when the fighting started, and tried to keep her eyes on him.

They really only had each other to be happy and loving with, as their parents didn't much want them around. Their childhood was far from normal. There were no happy birthday celebrations, no normal, warm Christmases. Rather than Alfred and Meg waiting for Santa Claus, they usually waited to hear the police sirens, when their parents got high and the neighbors called the cops because of all the screaming.

As they grew up, they often had one parent or the other off in jail temporarily. Alfred liked it better that way, because when they weren't together there was no fighting.

Years passed in that manner.

It was Alfred, not their parents, who had noticed that Meg had terrible vision and needed glasses. She was utterly blind without them by the time she was seven. Alfred loved the way she looked with them, though, the thick glass making her eyes bigger and prettier than usual. He found her perfect in every way, and strove to protect her as best he could.

They still hunkered down in the closet together when things got bad. They helped each other with homework, keeping their voices low and pretending to be invisible. Their happiest hours in the day were when they were at school, because that was a wonderful reprieve from chaos.

Wished they didn't have to go home.

Meg was smart, so smart, and before long she was doing Alfred's homework even though he was two grades ahead of her. In return, Alfred did everything he could to make her smile.

He took her on long walks outside, down to the beach and sometimes to the inlets, because god knew no one at home ever noticed when they were there or not. They walked down the hot street, hand in hand, crossed the long bridge, and sat on the sand to watch the water. They found a hill they liked that looked over the ocean, and made it their spot. Sometimes, a neighbor or stranger would pass them in a car and offer them a ride, and they always accepted, because there was nothing in the world that seemed more frightening than anything happening at home. Stranger danger had never existed with them, because strangers were always kinder than their parents.

Some nights, when the fighting was terrible and physical and the screams were too much, Alfred grabbed Meg's hand and they crept out of the window, and Alfred would walk her back out to the beach. Crossing the bridge at night wasn't scary; it was pretty. The moon and stars over the gentle waves, and knowing that once they reached their hill on the other side, they could settle down and go to sleep and be safe, for just that night.

Anyway, waking up to the sun rising over the ocean and the gulls calling was pretty nice.

When they were a little older, Alfred twelve or so, that was when he attempted to intervene when his father beat his mother, and sometimes his father just grabbed Alfred's arm and tossed him aside, and sometimes he beat Alfred, too, right there atop her.

Never beat Meg, though, not like that. Come to think, only their mother ever hit Meg, sometimes entirely for no reason whatsoever except for that she was angry or frustrated.

It wasn't really because Alfred cared about his mother enough to risk himself for her, exactly, but rather that Alfred thought that if he kept on intervening, maybe his father would get annoyed and just stop beating her altogether.

Ha—hardly.

Alfred covered his mother up with his own body sometimes, took the beating himself, and maybe he had hoped that it would help her somehow, make her better, make her love him, but it didn't. She just slid out from under Alfred when his father walked away, ran for the nearest bottle, and hid herself away. She left Alfred there on the floor, and didn't ever try to help him.

Alfred just covered up the bruises and went to school, keeping his head down and doing nothing to draw attention to himself, because he didn't want anyone to know.

Alfred's mother wasn't blameless, wasn't anyone Alfred trusted by any means, but she was his mother and he loved her anyway, even when she turned the tables and was the one hitting Alfred with the belt. He imagined that he was mostly a sense of stress-relief for her, and so never lifted his hand. He would rather that they beat him than Meg.

She was Alfred's main priority, and always had been.

In a way, Alfred was proud, when he limped back into the bedroom, bloody and bruised, because he knew that at least Meg would never have to feel like that. She always tended his cuts and bruises, hugged him after, slept upon his chest, and Alfred felt like he had done something worthwhile.

Alfred swore that he would protect her, always, and would never let anyone treat her the way his father did his mother. Swore that he woulda done anything for her, because all they had was each other. She was his charge, his duty. It was his responsibility, to keep her safe.

Meg was the only person who loved Alfred, and so it was Alfred's job to protect her.

They created their own little world. They held their own birthday party on the beach in summer, since they had been born merely one day apart in July, because their parents never remembered their birthday. On the odd occasion they did remember, it wasn't really anything extraordinary; sometimes his mother would make a cake, and say 'Happy birthday you two.'

Didn't ever really sound like she was that excited, though.

Didn't matter at all. When Alfred bowed at the waist and held his arm out dramatically for Meg like he saw on the television sometimes, she giggled, beamed, eyes crinkled behind her big glasses, and gladly leapt upon him. He walked her across the bridge like that, chest puffed out and chin high, and felt something like happy.

When Alfred was fourteen, there was a bad night, the violence had gotten out of hand and was brutal. Both of his parents were high, and when his father started beating his mother, as usual, Alfred grabbed Meg's hand and dragged her to the bedroom, to their little blanket fort that lied there yet from childhood, and shoved her beneath, as always. He went then to try to protect his mother as best he could, but for some reason that time Meg followed him. He didn't know why, but in the middle of that awful pain of his father striking him, he happened to hear a strange noise. He lifted his head, to see Meg running forward, shrieking, and she grabbed their father's hand to try to stop him.

Stupid, so stupid—why had she done that? He had always told her to stay put.

His father just threw Meg down to the floor and started hitting her, and Alfred abandoned his mother in a second to cover Meg and then somehow get them up to their feet. Alfred ran out of the trailer with her, leaving his mother to face his father's wrath alone, and they slept on their hill for three nights in a row, hungry and sore but safe.

Alfred couldn't stand the bruise on Meg's arm. Hated the sight of it, hated everything about it, and felt like such a failure. When Alfred hung his head and felt close to tears, Meg reached out, took his face in her hands, forced his gaze, and said, adoringly, 'You're my favorite person, Alfred.'

The world didn't realize Alfred and Meg existed, that they needed help, but that was alright. As long as they were always together.

Alfred's performance in school grew steadily worse. Sometimes, Alfred just didn't see the point, and then when he was thirteen and coming into adolescence, he became more aggressive.

Sometimes Alfred started fights at school, and he was frequently disciplined.

When Alfred was fifteen, he was officially labeled a 'problem child' by his teachers. They just saw him as a hardheaded, stubborn, aggressive, disrespectful, arrogant child, and never really bothered to attempt to discern the cause. He was handed detention after detention, and no one ever stopped to ask him, 'Why are you so angry, Alfred?'

His father took out his anger on his mother. His mother took out her anger on Alfred and Meg. Alfred took out his anger on other boys in school. Simple as that. Alfred was reacting in the only way he knew how.

Impulsive. Brash. Hotheaded.

But when Meg was there, all of those feelings went away, because Meg made him happy. He loved her and she loved him, so there was no need to be angry or hostile.

Alfred grew bigger, broader. Not quite as tall as his father, but wide. His hair had darkened since childhood, a tawnier blond now, and Meg frequently gushed to him, 'You're so handsome, Alfred! You look like the boys in bands.'

Ego rush, the first Alfred had ever really known, and Alfred had learned shortly after that he had, indeed, become very handsome. The girls in school always sought him out, and Alfred's arrogance became laced with vanity.

There was only one girl in Alfred's life, though, and he didn't let anything distract him from that, because keeping Meg safe was absolutely imperative to every bit of Alfred's identity.

In a way, that seemed like Alfred's destiny. As if that would be his eternal role in life. Had someone asked him, 'What do you want to be when you grow up?', Alfred would have responded, 'Meg's protector.'

All he wanted.

When Alfred turned sixteen, he tried to leave home, but his mother wouldn't let him, because she had two years left of benefits on him, and she intended to get every single bit. Alfred, for a moment, had thought about going to the courts to seek emancipation, but hadn't, because Meg was only fourteen and Alfred couldn't leave her behind.

So he waited.

Had almost landed in trouble when he had gone to school that year with a black eye, but had gotten out of it by lying because he was, after all, a teenage boy with temperament issues. Normal. No one cast him a second glance. Alfred had been fighting for years by then.

Alfred and Meg had long since fallen through the cracks.

Counting down the days. Alfred spent his nights staring at the ceiling and planning everything out, how he would get Meg out of here. He would leave home, get a job, get his own trailer somewhere, anywhere, and there he and Meg could stay, safe and sound.

Since Alfred had been sixteen, he had taken to mowing lawns after school, and had a little bit of money stashed. He kept it in one of Meg's teddy bears, because if his mother found it she would have used it to buy drugs.

In the meantime, Meg bloomed into adolescence herself, and Alfred found her just as beautiful as she found him handsome. Her blonde hair was lighter than Alfred's, down past her shoulders, her eyes seemed even bluer somehow as started wearing mascara, and she started wearing nice dresses. She was so pretty, _so_ pretty, and Alfred always felt ridiculously proud and pompous when he walked her along. Meg's prettiness did involve a little bit of complication, as Alfred found himself punching boys who even looked at her. Couldn't even count anymore how many detentions he had, and was honestly surprised by then that he hadn't been expelled.

As much as Meg was the only girl for Alfred, he was the only boy for her.

When they were out from under their parents' hell, then they could settle down and worry about having their own lives. For now, survival instincts directed them to constantly cling to the other.

Alfred sat on the hill, Meg's head rested on his lap, and he watched the waves crashing as he ran fingers through her hair.

She hummed from time to time, and Alfred gathered his courage.

The very day Alfred turned eighteen, he packed up his clothes, what little things he had, Meg's too, and headed to the door. His mother didn't bother to try to stop him, but she did put her foot down when Alfred had grabbed Meg's hand and tried to take her with him.

The fight that broke out then was very loud, very violent, and very destructive.

She raised holy hell, and the three of them descended into a brawl that caused utter ruin to the trailer's living room. Broken lamps, blinds pulled down, tables turned over, and all the while Alfred attempted to clear a path for Meg towards the door. Thank god their father hadn't been home. When Meg had tried to run out of the door, his mother had snatched her by the hair and slapped her and threw her to the floor. Her glasses had fallen off, and she was helpless when their mother grabbed her shirt and forcibly hauled her back as Alfred tried to drag her towards him. An actual tug of war over Alfred's little sister, and it was too much.

God, hearing Meg screaming—

That was the one and only time in his life that Alfred had ever hit a woman, when he lunged forward with a bellow and struck his mother across the face as hard as he could and then shoved her to the ground. The second she fell, Alfred moved. He grabbed Meg's hand again, hauled her up, and they ran out of there as fast as their legs could take them, as she cried and bawled the whole time.

She didn't have her glasses, and was blind, trusting Alfred completely to guide her.

Guide her he did, and they hitchhiked up to Elizabeth City, and by the end of that day Alfred had found a trailer to rent. Took all of the money he had, every bit of it, and a little sympathy, but even though the trailer was pretty bare and run down, they still collapsed down on the living room floor, and started laughing.

Absolute exhilaration.

They were free and safe, for the first time in their lives.

Meg rolled onto her side, kissed Alfred's cheek, and embraced him around the chest.

It was Alfred who whispered, lovingly, 'You're my favorite person.'

Her beautiful smile.

That was the happiest night of their lives.

But being an adult wasn't as easy as it theoretically seemed. Alfred went out the next morning in search of work, wandered for hours, from store to store. He was clueless, utterly helpless, inexperienced, and in the end he managed to procure a part-time job at a fast food restaurant. Well. Certainly wasn't glamorous, but it was his ticket to keeping Meg, and so Alfred was pretty damn happy about it.

It was several weeks before Alfred had saved up enough money to get Meg another pair of glasses, but he enjoyed her clinging to his arm during that stint of blindness.

It took a few months for Alfred to figure out that sustaining himself and Meg with a few hundred dollars a month was next to impossible. This wasn't exactly the life Alfred had planned for them. Money was so tight, they were barely scraping by, and there were many times when it was so bad that they went to bed very hungry.

But _safe_.

Alfred knew he couldn't keep going like that, wouldn't last long, and so he stood up one day and walked out of the door. When he came back, he had to sit Meg down and tell her that he had signed himself over to the army. He would be a soldier, for the next two years.

She had burst into tears, and Alfred had felt inadequate, a failure, but he tried to keep his chin up anyway and explain to her that it was the only way. Only two years, and he would make enough money to keep them afloat while at the same time earning himself a college education. He could get out of the army and do something with his life, and with that he could fulfill his promise to always keep her safe.

Several weeks later, Alfred was packed up, dressed in his United States Army uniform, the boots feeling so heavy, and Meg was hugging him for all she was worth, bawling her eyes out. It took a long while to escape her grip, and Alfred hated letting her go. Leaving her alone. She was smart, though, smarter than Alfred, and so he had been confident that she could handle being alone. She was sixteen, but very practical and very responsible.

Alfred kissed her forehead, and said, "I'll be home before ya know it. Be good, alright? Be careful. Be safe. I'll call ya, every day. I promise."

Alfred never broke his promises, and so she had pulled herself together bravely and nodded.

Before he knew it, Alfred was in Fort Bragg, being beaten into the ground in boot camp. Being a soldier wasn't easy, but it came pretty naturally to Alfred because Alfred was aggressive and assertive by nature. He fit in pretty damn well, and perked up a little, thinking that maybe he hadn't made such a dumb decision after all.

He kept his promise to call Meg every day, in his first free moment. It was strange, being so dirty and sweaty and sore from training, and yet to feel so weightless and happy every time he punched in those numbers and she answered the call. Her bright voice always cheered him up, however rundown he was.

She handled herself well, and was always perky and bright, even though she must have been so lonely.

Weeks and months passed, and then one year. Meg was seventeen, Alfred was nineteen, and Alfred called her as he always did.

But that time, when she picked up, her voice was thin, high, so excited, and Alfred had immediately asked, "What's goin' on?"

"I met someone!" she gushed, so breathlessly, and Alfred had immediately sat up straight, eyes wide and jaw clenched and feeling furious.

Scared.

"Whaddya mean?" he barked, as she pattered about happily; he could hear her shoes on the kitchen tile as she paced exuberantly.

His heart was thudding.

Scared, so scared, because he didn't wanna lose her. She was all he had, and maybe it was selfish of him but he was doing so much for her and didn't want another man to come in and swoop her off into the sunset.

She was only seventeen, still in school. Who could she have possibly met?

"Oh, you'll love him, Alfred! He works at the bank. He's so handsome! We've been going on dates. I'm so happy. He's a good man, you two will get along."

A rush of anger, and Alfred kept his teeth clenched so that he wouldn't start screaming.

He didn't ever want her to be anything less than happy, but this wasn't exactly what he had had in mind. All the same, despite his anxiety and irritation, he didn't really have the heart to ruin it for her, and so instead of forbidding it entirely and risk losing her, he instead laid down his set of laws.

The run of the mill things a normal father would have said to his daughter. Curfew, no fooling around, etc.

She sounded so _happy_...

Alfred was extremely arrogant by nature, yes, egotistical, and so in some way Alfred assumed that the man Meg had met would automatically behave himself, because surely he would have known that Alfred was a soldier and would kick his ass at the slightest misstep.

Alfred's pride would be the end of him.

And it kinda kicked him from behind when Meg announced four months later in February that she was getting married.

What the fuck—

"Are you _crazy_?" Alfred had barked that time, unable to hold his tongue, and then he embarked on a five minute long tirade that ended with Meg bawling on the other end.

The first time Alfred had ever made her cry.

He hated the sound of it, couldn't stand it, and had immediately apologized, against his better judgment. He couldn't exactly stop her, anyway, even if he thought it was too fast, far too fast. It was a terrible idea, he was very suspicious and very nervous, but everyone wanted to be happy and Meg deserved that more than anyone.

A few days later, Alfred finally relented, and grumbled, half-assedly, "Congratulations."

She lit right back up, as if Alfred had never made her cry at all, and that was worth it.

Alfred tried to get leave for the wedding, and was denied, and so Meg sent him some photos in the mail. It was one of the stranger moments in Alfred's life, lying back on his barrack and flipping through his little sister's wedding photos. The first time ever seeing her husband.

A tall guy, taller than Alfred but not as big. Dark hair, blue eyes. Pretty good-looking, as Meg had said, but rather unremarkable. Looked like any other normal man, and Alfred's terrible anxiety started to fade. Just a normal guy, that was all. No harm there. And best part was that he was smaller than Alfred so Alfred could have easily beat the shit out of him if he needed to.

Dodged a bullet there, for sure.

Meg's smile in those photos—prettiest thing Alfred had ever seen. Had never known someone could smile like that, and he stared at it for a long while, taking in the comfort of something familiar.

Couldn't wait to see her again in person.

Just a few more months of mandatory service. Alfred would be a free man in October, at least on the surface, and getting home to Meg was something he desperately looked forward to.

April.

One day, when Alfred called, Meg immediately said, "Guess what?"

Oh, lord, now what?

She sounded so excited, so happy, as usual nowadays, and Alfred snorted a little and played along by uttering, "What?"

A short pause, as she clearly was fit to burst, and then she chirped, "You're gonna be an uncle!"

Alfred's mouth dropped open in utter shock.

Too soon, it was far too soon. All of this had moved so quickly, too quickly, and Alfred was extremely leery of that, very anxious and nervous. Didn't know this man at all, not at all, but Meg sounded so _happy_. He didn't wanna ruin it for her, he really didn't, didn't wanna be the one to go up to her and say, 'Shouldn't ya think about this a little more?'

Too late, now.

Meg was married and now she was pregnant. Alfred couldn't change that, and so all he could try to do was support her.

At Alfred's silence, Meg tried, carefully, "If it's a boy, I'm'll name him after _you_."

A burst of pride, ego, happiness, and Alfred scoffed a little, gathered his head, and uttered, weakly, "Oh, yeah? Is that so? Well! Hey, I'll be home soon, real soon, so keep it a surprise for me, okay? I'm... I'm happy if you're happy, I am."

She said, "I can't wait to see you! I miss you so much."

"Me too," he said, and held his breath.

Seeing her again. Couldn't wait.

She kept him updated on her life, how she was feeling, how tired and sore she became as the months passed, how excited she was to buy baby clothes and toys and the whatnot. They had decided to let the gender be a surprise, but she hoped desperately that it was a boy, she said, so that she could name him after Alfred.

Alfred just smiled along with her.

And then, one beautiful day, Alfred's time was up.

He was discharged from the army and sent home. He was a reserve now for the next six years, yeah, but his future was secured. He could make something of himself now, and for that he could provide for Meg even though she had a new man supporting her.

Speaking of...

Time to meet this stranger, face to face for the first time. Talk to him. Get to know him.

Alfred went to the trailer he had gotten them when they had first left home, but that was only his home now, because Meg lived with her husband. It was a great feeling, coming in and throwing his bag down and plopping down on the couch.

Finally, home. He would get to see his sister, something he had looked forward to for so long. His parents were both in jail now, so he heard, and Alfred was kinda glad for that. Small favors.

Alfred stood in front of the mirror the next day, and primped himself a bit. He was as handsome as ever, but he was a man now, not a teenager, and much bigger than last Meg had seen him. Very strong, very broad, hair shorn and face covered with the heavy stubble he liked. Looked right out of the army, alright, and he was prepared to barge right into that marriage and assert himself.

He called Meg, to tell her he was coming by.

But she couldn't meet him that day, she said. Doctor's appointment. Alfred waited, and called her again the next day. Still no go, she said. Too busy. He called the day after. Another busy day.

Alfred let her breathe a little, because it was the holiday season and everyone was busy, more so a first time mother.

Oh, he was so _excited_ , couldn't _wait_ to see her! Couldn't wait to be an uncle. To give someone else the childhood they had never had.

But something had changed. Alfred had called Meg every single day while he had been at Fort Bragg, and yet now that he was home again, close by, suddenly Meg stopped answering his calls. On the rare occasion she did pick up, she always had some excuse about why she couldn't talk and had to go.

Alfred didn't like it, but really didn't think too much of it. She had her own life, after all, and was quite heavily pregnant by now and so surely she musta been worn out.

So, because he was Alfred, he decided that if she wasn't going to invite him, then he was just going to go over there.

He did, in the beginning of November, and oh, god, he swore the entire universe had gone up in fireworks for the way he felt when she opened the door and he saw her face. She cried out, squealed, and leapt on him, throwing arms around his neck. He had forgotten how long it had been since he had seen her.

She was more beautiful than he could have ever expected. Absolutely glowing.

She ran hands down his stubbled cheeks, fussed over him, gushed, and Alfred immediately turned to stare at her huge stomach. Looked like she coulda popped any day now.

Alfred fussed over her in turn, and she let him inside the trailer. Her husband wasn't there, and they spent hours curled up on the couch and chatting.

One of the most incredible moments of Alfred's life was placing his hand atop Meg's stomach and feeling her baby kicking around. Holy shit.

It was still such a foreign concept to him, being an uncle. Having a real family.

It was hard to get Meg to answer his calls still after that, and it was annoying but Alfred could only take it for what it was. He knew he was clingy, overbearing, and he didn't mean to be, so he tried to be patient.

The first time he met Meg's husband was at Thanksgiving, when Alfred had been invited over. It had been a little awkward, for sure, and Meg did all of the talking, chatting Alfred's ear off and reaching out frequently to touch his arm. Alfred coulda sworn that Meg's husband looked a little irritated every time she touched Alfred, looked annoyed, but Alfred just stared at him until he squirmed and looked away.

Well. Most guys didn't like their little sister's husband. Masculine pride and ego, clashing. They didn't speak much to each other, and Alfred went home later with still no feel for that man.

That awkward dinner was the last time Alfred saw Meg for a long while, as more excuses popped up and she rarely answered his calls.

Alfred was too happy to be angry, and he went out and bought a ton of presents for the baby, an absurd amount perhaps. He couldn't help it. As much as he had placed all of his hope and love into Meg as a child, he put that same hope now into his niece or nephew, because it was a new start for all of them.

The past didn't have to hold any more weight.

He wrapped the presents, piled them in his car, and one chilly day, two days before Christmas, Alfred drove over to her house. It was a pain to carry all those presents, and he couldn't see anything as he wobbled up to the trailer door and knocked.

She didn't answer at first.

He knocked again, arms sore from shifting those heavy presents back and forth, and finally she came to the door. She opened it, just a crack, and said, "Oh! Alfred! I didn't expect you."

Alfred scoffed, smiled, and offered, "Y'all never wanna come over to my place. So. I just thought I'd bring ya a few things for Christmas. Ya know."

She stood there for a long while, and Alfred thought it was a little strange. Maybe he had come over at a bad time, but finally she said, "Come in."

But she didn't open the door for him, and instead left it cracked open oddly and vanished from sight. Alfred reached out with his foot and pried the door open, coming inside a bit skillfully without dropping a single present.

She wasn't within his sights, and he looked around in a quick search for the Christmas tree. He found it in the corner, small, sad little thing that it was, and made a beeline for it, calling as he went, "Hey! Did y'all figure out what you're gonna name the baby if it's a girl?"

"Not yet," she responded quietly, from within some other room. "I have a few ideas, but I cain't make up my mind."

Alfred smiled, lowered himself down and set the presents on the floor, and then he began positioning them beneath the tree as he waited for Meg to join him.

She took her sweet time, did she ever, and impatient Alfred eventually stood up and went to the bedroom. He rapped his knuckles on the frame and then stuck his head in, asking, "You gonna show me all the stuff ya have for the baby? I got ya a lotta things."

She was sitting on the edge of the bed, preening, and Alfred thought it was a little odd that she was putting on makeup just for him. Eh—women.

"I'll be right out," she said, and Alfred took the hint and ducked back out into the living room.

As he waited, he looked the trailer over. It was newer than Alfred's, not as run down, but somehow seemed rather lackluster. Couldn't put his finger on it. Random pictures and frames were all over the wall, in strange positions and locations. Alfred didn't wanna be a dick, but...well. The decorating was...

Well! Didn't matter.

One of the doors to a bathroom was crooked and a little bent, leaning off the hinges as if it had taken a good hit. Alfred went to inspect it, and as he was thinking about how to fix it, Meg finally came out. He didn't look back at her at first, testing the door by moving it along, and she finally said, "It's nothin'."

Alfred snorted, and offered, "I can probably fix it for ya. I know a few things."

"I'm sure ya do."

Alfred stood up, clapped his hands together, and then he turned around, falling silent.

Meg stood there, side to Alfred, and was staring at the tree, head turned away. She was oddly quiet, and her posture was so strange. Everything about her in that moment seemed so nervous, strained, tense, weary.

Alfred took a step towards her, and asked, "Are ya gettin' enough rest? Ya look tired."

She nodded, and sat down on the couch.

Feeling that he was intruding more than visiting, Alfred looked around, scuffed his boot a little on the carpet, and then glanced up through his lashes. He asked, again, "Are ya gonna show me the baby's room?"

She finally looked up at him, and said, "I will, in just a minute."

Alfred didn't hear her words, because something had snagged his attention and he focused on it completely. Something was off. Wrong. Meg had put on so much makeup, and yet despite her best efforts Alfred still spied the blue and purple beneath.

Stunned and dumbfounded, Alfred just stared at her, as his brain momentarily malfunctioned. The gravity of what he was actually seeing was temporarily just too much for him.

She had a black eye.

He couldn't understand that. Couldn't grasp it.

She saw him staring at her, and must have known that she had been had, for she instantly ducked her head and turned it aside, tugging mindlessly at her sleeves. Alfred's eyes drifted down, and he spied there, just beneath the sleeve of her sweater, another dark bruise upon her wrist.

Silence.

That awful silence. As if the atmosphere had been sucked out into space. Had to be, because Alfred couldn't breathe.

She stood up, abruptly, and said, "Alfred, I have to go out soon, so—"

She didn't finish, when Alfred barged forward, grabbed her by the arm, and harshly lifted up her sleeve. Awful bruises, so dark, and clearly in the shape of fingers. She was placid and still within his hands, passive, head still hanging and looking so meek. He pulled up her other sleeve, to identical bruises. He lifted her chin, inspected her swollen eye as she tried so hard to turn away.

The world exploded.

Oh, that wrath he felt then. No words for it. Could never have described it, never, had never felt anything like that before. Could have burnt up the world for the way he felt, that rage that surged up.

Living it all over again, all of it, and this time it would be Meg in the kitchen corner screaming as another little kid hid somewhere under a blanket. An endless circle. Hadn't she learned anything from their mother? Ha—yeah, she had. Everything she knew, after all, came from their mother. To them, this behavior was normal, so familiar, and so maybe Meg just didn't really see all that much wrong with it. She was her mother's daughter, in every way.

She was her mother's daughter, alright, but Alfred was his father's son, and immediately he gave in to his anger and went on a rampage. He turned, stomped around, and looked around the house, even though he knew that her husband wasn't home. At a lack of a face to punch, Alfred turned to the wall and punched it instead, the flimsy drywall collapsed, and in that moment Alfred realized why there were so many odd and random frames on the wall at low angles. To cover holes like this.

"Why didn't ya _tell_ me?" he shrieked, as he punched the wall again, and then he stomped into the kitchen and punched the counter until his knuckles were bleeding.

She was silent.

He was erratic, jerky, too full of adrenaline and anger to think properly, and he kicked the cabinet door for good measure before he stalked back over to her, grabbed her shoulders, and shook her. He demanded, angrily, as he shook her too hard, "Why didn't ya _tell_ me? Huh? Why didn't ya fuckin' _tell_ me? What were ya thinkin'? Didn't ya fuckin' _learn_ anything? Didn't ya?"

He wanted to slap her, did he ever, but restrained himself.

She gazed up at him in terror, eyes wide behind her glasses, and Alfred noticed that they were cracked in one frame.

For Christ's sake—

Why hadn't she ever told him? Didn't she trust him? They had always looked out for each other.

Alfred let her go, stomped around a little more, and then he positioned himself by the front door, braced his feet, and waited.

Waiting, alright, for that bastard to come home, and when he did, Alfred would kill him.

Meg must have known, for she stood up, came over, grabbed Alfred's arm, and pleaded, "Please leave, Alfred! Please! It's not like that, really, it's not what ya think! Please, go home. Please don't start a fight, please—"

He shoved her off, and ignored her, holding his silent vigil there by the door.

For hours, Meg begged and pleaded, and it fell on deaf ears. Alfred shoved her repeatedly away, and didn't budge an inch.

In the evening, when the sun was low in the horizon, a huge red-orange disk, that bastard finally came home. Alfred heard the car door slam, bristled up with adrenaline, and Meg went on one last round of pleading. Alfred clenched his fists when the doorknob turned.

The door opened. Meg's husband walked in, and had just enough time to lift his head and see Alfred before Alfred's fist had connected with his face.

He fell backwards down the short steps, onto the ground below, as Alfred literally leapt down and on top of him and started beating the hell out of him.

Meg was shrieking behind him, screaming, and Alfred heard it but couldn't make out any words as the blood pounded in his ears.

It wasn't exactly a fair fight; Meg's husband was just a normal, average man, and Alfred was a trained soldier, fresh out of the fort. The sucker-punch didn't make it any better, but Alfred hardly cared about the fairness of it.

Fair? There was nothing fair about a man beating up a tiny little woman, who was so far along in pregnancy that she had to breathe through her mouth and twist around just to stand up.

Nothing was ever fair, the world wasn't fair, and Alfred had found that out the hard way—

He didn't know how long he had been punching the bastard, but somehow the man gained enough traction to raise his arms to defend himself, and then he got up long enough to actually try to throw a punch back. Alfred let him, let him get a few hits in, let him see what it felt like to hit a man, and he did that because it would be the last time.

Alfred's intention then was to absolutely beat him to death, even if that meant he woulda spent the rest of his life in jail. Alfred was impulsive, always had been, and didn't think about the consequences of his actions.

Just knew that this man was beating up the only person Alfred loved, and he was _dead_.

Meg was still screaming away behind them, and after a short scuffle Alfred once more knocked Meg's husband down and pounced on him. Swear that nothing had ever felt as good as punching that man did, after a lifetime of being the victim.

Sirens suddenly, as police cars came roaring in, at the neighbors having called them.

Shouting, voices, commotion, but Alfred was too intent on pummeling the man on the ground beneath him. Only when several officers grabbed him and yanked him off did he stop, and he raised absolute hell there in their arms, struggling to break free and get back over so that he could finish the job and hit that son of a bitch until he wouldn't ever wake up again.

Meg ran forward as Alfred was dragged off, and grabbed her husband's arm as he pulled himself to one knee. That hurt more than anything, that Meg had run over to her husband and not Alfred. She tried to pull him upright, sniveling and so distraught, as the cops struggled to wrangle thrashing Alfred.

Alfred gave it his best effort, his strongest upheaval, and screamed at them, "Y'all are arrestin' the wrong guy!"

They essentially banded together to bear hug Alfred between three sets of arms to subdue him, and Alfred was further infuriated when Meg's husband wiped the blood from his chin and nose and sneered at Alfred, triumphantly. Meg was clinging to his arm, looking him over, as he met Alfred's eyes and lifted his chin in nothing less than victory.

Oh, he was gonna _kill_ that fucker, he was, if the cops would let him go—

A sudden dizziness, as the cops slammed him into their car, his head connecting with the steel.

Stars.

Meg. Why had she gone to _him_?

"Y'all are arrestin' the wrong _guy_!" Alfred shrieked again, as the cops pinned him there atop the hood of the car. The pain in his arms and wrists as he was brutally cuffed was absolutely nothing compared to the pain in his chest, as he was pretty sure his heart was actually breaking.

Oh—why hadn't she just _told_ him? He had promised for so many years to keep her safe. Why hadn't she trusted him like she had before? He had always protected her, always, and he would have gladly done so again, if she had just trusted him.

When Alfred was cuffed, the cops pulled him upright, and Alfred was quick to cry, as they tried to haul him off, "Stop! Arrest _him_! He's beatin' up my little sister! Arrest _him_ , why don't'cha, Christ!"

A momentary slowing of the racing scene, as the two cops dragging Alfred seemed to hesitate. The third cop looked back and forth between everyone, and then, as Alfred watched with a burst of hope, he went up to Meg and looked her over. He immediately saw the bruises on her arms and face, even as she craned her head and yanked her sleeve down in vain. It was enough to attract attention, of course it was, a small woman that was eight months pregnant and covered in dark bruises. There was no way Meg could get out of this, no way, and Alfred clung to that thin hope.

The officer waved his hand in the air and beckoned Meg over, to get her away from the side of her bloody husband. He watched Meg like a hawk regardless, attempting to assert dominance over her in this precarious situation.

"Ma'am," the officer began as Alfred held his breath, "Where did you get those bruises from?"

A long, awful silence.

And then Meg looked up, and met Alfred's eyes. He tried to plead with her silently, tried so hard to tell her a million things without a single word, and he saw the crinkle of her brow as her face threatened to collapse.

Oh, please, please, just tell him, just tell the truth—

She didn't, and finally said, softly, "I tried to get in between _them_ , that's all. It's not like that."

Despair.

"She's _lyin'_!" Alfred screamed, as Meg looked away again. "Oh, god, don't ya see she's _lyin'_? Arrest _him_! Can't ya do anything? _Do_ something!"

The cop looked back at Alfred, regretfully, and one of the officers holding Alfred leaned in and whispered, "We can't. She has to say it."

That wasn't right, wasn't, because Meg would never say it, would never admit it. Why did she have to? Everyone could _see_ the goddamn bruises.

The third cop turned back to Meg, lowered his voice, and tried, coaxingly, "Won't ya just come down to the station for a bit? Talk with me? I won't keep ya long."

Meg's husband came up, put his hand down on her shoulder, and Meg immediately said, "No, sir. There's nothin' to talk about. Really. Everything is fine."

The cop pursed his lips, exhaled heavily through his nose, nodded his head, and then went back to the others, and helped them drag Alfred over to the car.

"Meg!" Alfred cried, as they yanked him, "Look at me! _Tell_ 'em! Ya gotta _tell_ 'em, ya gotta! _Please_ —"

He was stuffed in the backseat, the car door was slammed, and Alfred pressed his forehead against the glass as the car pulled out.

Meg stared at him the entire while the car left, and then she was out of sight.

That was the last time he ever saw her.

Alfred closed his eyes, and it took every bit of strength he had in him not to bawl the entire ride to the station. The cops, for their part, were considerably gentler with him, and the cop that had spoken to Meg took Alfred into a room, sat him down, and asked him for his statement. Alfred told him everything, everything, and hoped to god that something would _happen_.

That they would go back out there and help her, something, anything.

The cop met Alfred's eyes when he was done writing, and said, "I promise you, I'll do everything I can to make sure I get you out of here as soon as possible. I think I can get ya out by tomorrow. He won't wanna press charges if it means he might charged, too. Alright? It's gonna be alright. Just calm right down. Get yourself together. You cain't help 'er if you're in jail, son."

Right.

Tomorrow, then. Tomorrow, Alfred would get out, and then he would go back over there, and he would force Meg down to the station, whether she liked it or not, and she would tell the truth. She had to, because there was no other choice. Alfred wouldn't let her out of this, he wouldn't. Tomorrow. He would talk to her tomorrow.

All Alfred could do then was mutter, "Thanks," and bow his head as he was walked to the holding cell. He spent the night there, as the only person he cared about in the entire world spent the night with the one person Alfred just couldn't protect her from.

But not the whole night.

Four in the morning.

A light came on. Footsteps. Alfred started from sleep with an inhale at the sound of a key, and opened his eyes blearily. He hadn't really slept, drifting restlessly here and there, and his head was muddled for it. He looked around as he sat up; the cop from earlier was there, in civilian clothes. Looked like hell, as much as Alfred did, and when Alfred sat up, the cop said, "I need you to come with me."

Too tired and dazed to ask questions, Alfred just stood up and followed.

The cop led him once more to the interview room, and Alfred blinked in the bright lights and shivered from the cold. The cop handed him a coffee, sat down, and was quiet for a very long time. Alfred, hugging the coffee to warm up and coming slowly to consciousness, didn't notice the redness of the cop's eyes, nor the distress on his face.

At least not until he suddenly said, "I'm sorry."

Alfred glanced up, saw the appearance of the officer, and felt an awful twist of his stomach. Nauseous out of nowhere, ill, and he felt himself pale and break into a cold sweat. Clammy.

"What's wrong?" he asked, though he didn't want to know.

There was another long silence, before the officer finally inhaled and met Alfred's eyes.

A simple, concise statement :

"Your sister is dead. I'm sorry."

...what?

Alfred scoffed, breathlessly, half-smiling in disbelief, because some part of him just hadn't really comprehended. Didn't make sense. He was still half asleep and very confused.

Must have misheard.

Dumbly, still smiling nervously, Alfred uttered, "What was that?"

The cop looked sick to his stomach, and didn't respond immediately, turning his eyes every which way but at Alfred.

Alfred could hear his own heart pounding as he waited.

Eternity, and then another low, gruff mutter.

"I'm sorry. He— She's gone. We didn't get to her in time."

Alfred's nervous smile fell, as dread crept there under the surface of confusion. Couldn't understand, couldn't, he had just seen her a few hours ago, didn't make sense at all.

Something was wrong.

As much as he had never felt that level of anger prior, Alfred had never felt such horror as he did then. That awful, dark shadow that seemed to fall over the entire room, casting Alfred in night. As if all light in the world had gone out.

In his horror, not all there and still not really comprehending, Alfred managed to breathe, weakly, "The baby?"

The cop stared down at the table, and was silent.

The world and all reality crashed down around Alfred then. As if a light bulb had gone off somewhere up in head. A short circuit. Alfred was freezing then, so damn cold, as the world froze over with his shock and disbelief.

Tomorrow?

No. Not tomorrow. Or the next day.

Never.

Alfred was never gonna talk to her again, never, and that notion was too much for him to comprehend, and he entirely shut down. He was confused, so helplessly confused, had never been so _confused_ , and didn't really take in too much of the next hour, as the cop spoke to him gently and tried to comfort him. Alfred didn't need his comfort then, because Alfred was far too out in space to understand.

Meg was gone. How? Alfred had sworn to keep her safe. How had this happened? None of this was right.

The cop spoke and spoke, as Alfred stared blankly at his chest, and Alfred blearily managed to grasp the situation : Meg's husband, enraged by his confrontation with Alfred, took his anger out on Meg. But not with his fists that time—in his fury, he had grabbed a knife out of the wood block in the kitchen and plunged it into Meg's chest. As she bled out there on the cold kitchen floor, her husband panicked, called the police, and cried, 'I didn't mean to do it! I didn't!'

He loved her, he had said, as they arrested him.

One thing stood out to Alfred, above all else : her husband was in jail now, too, and that meant that Alfred would never be able to kill him.

Alfred only moved a muscle when the cop grabbed his arm and pulled him up, and asked if he wanted to see her. Dumbly, dazed Alfred nodded, and then he was in a cop car again, being driven to the hospital morgue.

Everything felt so surreal. Just some terrible nightmare he was wandering about in. Would wake up any second, any minute now, really...

The hospital was cold, uninviting, frightening, and when the cop pushed open a door and Alfred saw that gurney there, white sheet over it, he knew that he wasn't dreaming.

Not a dream.

The awful shape of that white sheet. A face beneath, and then the high curve of a stomach. It wasn't just Meg lyin' there, but something else Alfred had always wanted.

The medical examiner walked forward suddenly and pulled down the sheet. An awful hitch of Alfred's breath as reality struck him in the face. That was Meg, alright, no more denying it. She was pale, so pale. No glasses. White as that sheet that covered her. Her lips were blue. Even then, Alfred still thought she was pretty.

He didn't know why, but Alfred suddenly turned his head and locked eyes with the officer.

The cop held Alfred's gaze, until Alfred said, "If you had arrested him yesterday, she'd still be alive." Then, he looked away, and Alfred turned his eyes back down to pale Meg, motionless there on that gurney. His gaze rested on her stomach, and he also didn't know why he said, in a voice so low it broke, "She was gonna name it after me, if it was a boy."

A hand on his back, and he was led away.

At the last second, he looked over his shoulder, just to see her one more time.

The only person he had ever loved.

The only person he had ever failed.

When the door shut behind him, Alfred looked at the officer once more, and said, in a grand realization, "If I killed him yesterday, she'd be alive. I shoulda killed him."

The cop shook his head, and forced Alfred along. He was driven to his trailer, and stood there before the door in confusion. The officer, feeling personal responsibility for Alfred, no doubt, sighed and then helped walk Alfred inside. When the cop pushed Alfred down on his couch, he murmured, "Don't do anything stupid, boy."

Alfred nodded.

The next morning, as Alfred lied still on the couch, lost up in his head, there was a knock on the door. He trudged over, but it was the officer again, checking in on him.

Man, guilt sure was the only way people really cared about others.

"Do you want me to take you over to her place? So you can...get whatever you want?"

Again, Alfred silently nodded, because he was operating entirely on autopilot.

The cop drove him to Meg's trailer, and led him inside. A crime scene, as it was.

"Take whatever you need," he said, as Alfred looked around in a daze.

The little Christmas tree was so dull there in the corner, Alfred's presents resting there yet beneath it.

She had never stood a chance.

Ever slumping, Alfred turned his head this way and that, and felt so _lost_. Alone. A scared and bewildered fawn, running around in circles in the dark woods.

A glint of light caught his eye, and he turned his head to see Meg's glasses lying there on the floor near the tree. He walked to them, purposefully not looking at the dull, rust red on the kitchen floor, and knelt down to pick them up. They were cracked, and the cracks had reflected the sunlight. He studied them, turning them this way and that, for what felt like eternity.

His shock abruptly and rudely vanished, and Alfred burst into tears then, as he held her glasses.

The cop stood watch over him, silently, as Alfred held the spectacles to his chest and fell down onto his haunches on the floor, bawling his eyes out. Felt like hours he sat there, until the officer pulled him to his feet. Sniveling and heartbroken and feeling so utterly worthless, Alfred tucked her cracked glasses into his breast pocket, hung his head, and walked out of there in shame.

That was all he took, just those glasses. Couldn't stay there any longer, couldn't, and sank under his misery.

His world ended.

He lied on his couch that night again, despondent and lethargic, and studied her glasses beneath the low light.

The next day, for whatever reason, Alfred stood in front of the mirror and put her cracked glasses upon his nose. Why, he didn't know. He just missed her so much. The world went blurry for a while, his head started hurting, but he had enough vision to see himself however briefly.

He looked different.

Different?

Yeah—different. Looked like a different man. Someone else. Some other man, some stranger, a blank slate. Didn't know that man in the mirror, and so Alfred could have said anything he wanted about him. Could just make a new life under a different persona. Could be someone else, because who he was wasn't good enough, and never had been.

The next day, Alfred received a call from the county jail. He accepted it, because he was still in shock.

It was his mother.

She was crying, and as soon as the call connected, she said to Alfred, _"How could you let that happen? You let your little sister die! You were supposed to protect her!"_

Alfred held the phone against his ear, staring away at the wall, and he was silent for a long time.

What did she care, anyway? She had never loved them.

When he finally spoke, all he said was, "Sorry, mama. But everything she did, she learned from _you_."

He hung up, and lied down on the couch.

Couldn't stay here, he suddenly realized. Couldn't stay in this place and see these people, because everyone knew what had happened. Everyone knew about Alfred's failure. He had lived in this area since he had been five years old, and now couldn't stand being here.

Walking down the street and seeing familiar faces. Strangers that had once picked up Meg and Alfred from the street and given them a ride when they had escaped. What would they think if they saw him now?

Shame.

He found out from the news, a little while later, that the baby had been a boy. Meg's husband didn't go to court, there was no trial, because he pled out in a fit of cowardice to reduce his sentence. And despite the entire ordeal, through it all, Meg's husband repeatedly proclaimed that he had loved her and hadn't meant to hurt her. Sure. Alfred called the officer that had taken him to Meg's, and asked for one last favor. The cop obliged, and a few days later Alfred was sitting down in front of a pane of bulletproof glass, phone in hand as he stared across at the man who had killed his sister.

He had asked, "Why are _you_ here?"

Alfred hadn't said a damn word, not a word, and just stared and stared at him, until the man had been squirming and nervous and scared, and it was him, not Alfred, who ended the visit when he stood up and walked off.

Alfred didn't know why he had gone. Just wanted to look at the bastard one more time, and tell him with his stare alone that if he ever got out of prison, ever, that Alfred would kill him, even if they were ninety. From the fear on his face as he had fled, Alfred was pretty sure the point had gotten across.

Alfred went home, cried himself to sleep on his couch, and the next day he started planning his great migration.

North.

A week later, Alfred found glasses he liked, with no prescription, and started wearing them without fail. He liked the way they looked on him, because he didn't recognize himself.

He let his hair grow out. Shaved. Styled his sideburns differently. Changed up his clothing. He packed up what little he owned, and set out. Before he left town for good, he went back out to that hill in Kitty Hawk that overlooked the sea, where they had passed so many nights huddled up together, and set her cracked glasses down atop it. He contemplated them for a while, cried a little, and then essentially exiled himself. But he looked so different, so no one from his 'former life' would have ever recognized him had they crossed his path. That was Alfred's only comfort.

That, as they said, was that.

Meg was gone, the only person that had ever loved Alfred, because Alfred had been too stupid to protect her. He had failed her, let her down, and suffered every day for it.

And here he was now, all over again.

Instead of Meg, it was Ludwig who said, 'It's not like that.'

Instead of Meg, it was Ludwig who said, 'He's a good man.'

Instead of Meg, it was Ludwig who refused to press charges and tell the truth.

Every word that came out of Ludwig's mouth, Alfred had already heard once before, and he knew too well how it would end if that course ran unchecked. Alfred didn't doubt that Ivan loved Ludwig, anymore than he didn't doubt that Meg's husband had loved her. That didn't matter, in the end, when love became violent. Ivan _loved_ Ludwig, alright, to death.

Alfred found himself on the brink once more, and _god_ , god— He didn't wanna _lose_ again, he didn't. Had nothing left at all, nothing, and didn't want to ever push open a door and see a gurney covered with a white sheet. Didn't wanna see it pulled down and it be Ludwig there underneath.

He didn't want to have another image in his head, of someone who had been blinded by love lying in a pool of blood with a knife in their chest.

Couldn't stand that thought that was always burned there in the back of his mind.

He didn't want to miss Ludwig, too.

He was supposed to be an uncle.


	22. Lost Connection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N : Happy new year's, guys! All I can say is I love you all, and thank god this most miserable year of our lord 2020 is OVER. May it never reoccur.

**Chapter 22**

**Lost Connection**

The dark room lit up sometimes in orange and dull yellow whenever a car passed down the street.

Everything was quiet.

Ludwig hadn't moved or lifted his voice once, in the long while that Alfred had spoken. Just stared up at the ceiling, hands clasped over his abdomen, and listened without offering input. Alfred had listened to Ludwig once when no one else had, and Ludwig paid that forward.

But he stood now before Ludwig's judgment, the only person he cared about, and had to risk losing Ludwig's confidence.

Alfred had failed someone before, and perhaps Ludwig would rethink how safe he actually was within Alfred's hands.

Whatever was going on in Ludwig's mind was a mystery, and the silence was heavy as the lights faded from blue to yellow. The snow was falling heavily outside, a downpour, and the window was frosted over, casting a chill into the air despite the heater blowing.

Below, the family had quieted down, no doubt turning in for the night.

At last, Ludwig suddenly asked, over that awful quiet, "Is that why you became a bodyguard?"

Alfred had wandered north over the years, through Virginia, Washington D.C., Maryland, Pennsylvania, and then he had reached New York, and still hadn't found what he had wanted. Never found anything, because he was always lost and alone.

In the back of his mind, Alfred had hoped that during his six year period as a reserve in the army he would suddenly be summoned, sent off somewhere, sent to war even, but he never was. His contract with the army ended without him ever once being back in uniform. The college education Alfred had earned from it went nowhere, was never put to use.

Alfred had only done it to support Meg. When she was gone, he hadn't cared anymore.

What was the point?

Alfred didn't turn to look at Ludwig when he responded, "Yeah. When I got here, I had a few jobs, here and there, normal things. And then, one day, I was looking around and saw an ad in the paper, for a bodyguard. I thought... I'm not really good at anything, I ain't smart like you, so, I figured I could at least do _that_. If nothing else, I'm pretty good at punching people. I thought it would be great. Getting to protect someone. I thought, being a bodyguard, I would get to protect good people. But...didn't really happen that way. All I ever got was looking out for jerks, criminals. People that I would rather have hurt than protect, you know. I hate it. It's not what I signed up for. It's not what I thought it would be."

Ludwig was quiet.

Alfred had foolishly become a bodyguard because he had envisioned becoming a hero, redeeming himself. He had daydreamed about protecting some other woman from a violent man. Had gotten it into his head that as a bodyguard he would end up saving someone that might have looked like her. Becoming a knight, as it was, for a woman who might have had a little kid. Maybe a boy.

Hardly. Instead, Alfred walked beside men who were far too much like the man he had wanted to kill. Protecting assholes like that, walking them home, and sometimes standing outside the door for a while and hearing screams from within. Knowing that he was guarding the wrong person but unable to do anything about it because he needed the money so badly.

And now—

Abruptly, Alfred added, "Until now. Until you. This is always what I wanted. You— I feel like, with _you_ , I get a chance to make something right. I'm not— That didn't sound right. I'm not using you for something, I'm not. I know I can't ever fix it, I can't change anything, I know that. But I... I let her down, and I don't ever want to let anyone down again. I'll do anything to keep you safe, anything. I'd give my life to keep you safe. I mean that. As long as I'm here, I won't let anything to happen to you. I can't."

Hoped to god that Ludwig understood what he was trying to say. Hoped that Ludwig understood that Alfred wasn't trying to use him as a source of redemption, because it wasn't like that anymore even though it had been at first, but Alfred wasn't good enough with words to say exactly what he was thinking.

He loved Ludwig, and that was why he was such a wreck, why he tried so hard, because letting someone down was bad enough, but letting someone down that he loved all the way was shattering.

Couldn't fail again, and he hoped that Ludwig understood _why_.

The snow fell outside. Wind against the window.

Ludwig's irises lit up in shades of silver and gold in the changing lights.

Finally, Ludwig spoke.

A low, rumbling mutter, as Alfred could feel the reverberation in his chest.

"You asked me once, what Gilbert saw. You were right, I _was_ afraid to tell you. It... Maybe I just didn't want to see it like everyone else did. Maybe all of you were right all along. Maybe I really did just see what I wanted to see. I didn't want it to be as bad as it was."

Alfred stayed patiently silent, even though some part of him didn't want to know, didn't want the truth anymore, didn't want to hear Ludwig talk about it because they were doing so well and making so much headway.

Alfred had stopped caring about Ludwig's denial in order to focus on fueling his own.

But it was too late to go back, because Ludwig had already started speaking and Alfred was paralyzed.

Ludwig stared up at the ceiling, skin and hair tinted in somber shades of blue and green from the lights.

"It wasn't that she didn't trust you. It wasn't your fault. Did you really think it was? You didn't do anything wrong. She just didn't want to lose someone she loved. It wasn't that she didn't trust you."

Not his fault?

Alfred rolled his head to the side then to stare over at Ludwig, was fascinated then, utterly fascinated, because it was the opposite side of the spectrum, the other side of the mirror, as he looked at pale Ludwig. It was like being able to speak to his sister, to get a glimpse into her mind, to try to understand what she had been thinking, to attempt to comprehend why she had done the things she had.

Ludwig, after all, would know.

Couldn't ask her anymore why she hadn't called him, so he could only listen to Ludwig.

No one had ever said that it wasn't his fault, and Alfred desperately wanted that to be true, even though he had shaped and formed his entire personality and identity around the notion that it had been.

Ludwig's voice was deep, soft. Calm.

"One of my first memories is of Toris protecting me. You can't see, but— Our father raised Gilbert very strictly. You would know the sort of man he was. Gilbert has these awful scars on his back. When he was little, our father beat him whenever he made the smallest mistake. He would whip him with a cable until he was bleeding. He has so many scars, you can't imagine. When I was small, one night I had a nightmare. I ran into Gilbert's room in the middle of the night, crying. Gilbert was angry with me, because I'm not supposed to be scared of anything. Gilbert never wanted a child. I was put upon him. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to react in any other way than what _he_ was taught. I don't remember Gilbert hitting me, exactly, but I remember Toris running in between us. That was the only time I can ever remember Toris screaming. He was so mad at Gilbert. Toris pushed Gilbert back, and I remember hiding behind Toris. Gilbert didn't realize that it was abnormal. For him— He just did what he thought was appropriate. But Toris kept me safe, and Gilbert never hit me again after that. So I know that I could always have gone to Toris."

Ludwig swallowed a little, nervously perhaps, as he shifted his hands a little there atop his stomach.

Alfred had long since resumed staring at the ceiling.

Toris and Gilbert. Alfred wanted them to be villains, maybe, because he wanted to be the only good person in the story. As Meg's husband had isolated her from everyone else to make himself seem better, as Ivan had isolated Ludwig, so too did Alfred want to keep Ludwig to himself. Alfred wasn't like them in that sense, but underneath he really was his father's son, and those latent tendencies manifested themselves in ways that seemed normal to Alfred. Alfred didn't want anyone else to outshine him, to be helpful, to be loved more than him, and so he found flaws in them, used their disadvantages to put himself in a better light.

Ludwig had always spoken about Toris with fondness and love, but Alfred had never once deemed him anything but useless. He had ignored the numerous times that Ludwig had said that Toris had come between him and Gilbert, and indeed it was always Toris in the end who saved Alfred's ass from Gilbert's wrath.

Gilbert was controlling beyond normality, and Alfred hated him for it, but Gilbert didn't know any better, really. Gilbert knew only what he had grown up with, had never been prepared to raise a child himself, had never had time to adjust and figure out some other way, some different path than his own.

Alfred knew that growing up with it didn't excuse it, he knew that very personally, but sometimes it was impossible to completely disconnect from it.

"I know you don't like them. I know why you don't. I know you never believed me when I told you that they aren't as bad as they seem. But please believe me when I say that they love me. I always knew they did. We're all just...a mess. Ha. What do we know about being normal? They're not bad people. If I had told Toris and Gilbert the truth from the beginning, they would have come running. Toris would never have let any of this happen. It wasn't their fault. It was mine. I made my choice, like she made hers. It wasn't your fault, anymore than it was Toris'."

It was Alfred that time who swallowed.

He wished Ludwig would fall still and stop speaking, because it was Alfred then who was the most uncomfortable.

But Ludwig just kept on, as he often did once he started rambling.

"It wasn't anything terrible at first. The first time Ivan punched me, I held my phone for hours, thinking about calling Toris. He's not...outwardly affectionate, like you're used to here, but I trust him, all the way. But I didn't call him. When it started getting a little worse, I still didn't tell him. I knew I should have. I knew all along that I should have told someone, but I— It's not so easy to explain, being in love. I didn't want to lose him. And then later Gilbert just told me that I got myself into this mess, and so I had to get myself out."

Alfred spoke up then, to utter, softly, "I thought you didn't tell anyone?"

"I didn't," Ludwig clarified, without looking away from the ceiling. "One day... It was quite bad one night. It was difficult to move. It was a Tuesday. I was a little late coming into Gilbert's office. He— When he held me over the glass, my collar came down. He saw the bruise around my neck. But he... At first, Gilbert didn't realize how serious it was. My fault, really. _You_ know, don't you, the things I say."

Yeah, too well.

Could easily see Ludwig changing the narrative to Gilbert and coming up with a million excuses. Gilbert was hyper-possessive of Ludwig, very overbearing and smothering and protective, but in that moment in time Gilbert and Ludwig had been on shaky terms because of Ludwig's prior rejection of Gilbert to Ivan. With Ludwig's smooth words, Gilbert had initially been placated.

Ludwig had passed it off as accident, perhaps, a one-time thing, nothing to worry about, and Gilbert, bitter and wanting Ludwig to lie in his bed, merely turned his head aside.

At first.

"Gilbert and Toris never wanted to hear anything about Ivan. They didn't care that he was getting worse. They hated him, they always did, and so they said I should have known better. They thought at first that Ivan just had a bad temper. Things like that. And, well, that was true, he always was a little intense, but this was different than what they thought. When it got worse, that was when they began to intervene. It was because— What Gilbert saw, that time— It was stupid. Pitiful. I was always too scared to call out from work, because Gilbert would be so mad at me. I always protected my face when Ivan hit me, always, because as long as I didn't have any bruises there I could just go about my business. I couldn't that one time. I had so many bruises. I think my nose was broken. I tried to rush in and get to the office without anyone seeing me, but I think Lovino did. He must have said something to Gilbert or Toris. Gilbert came to my office. I had never been so embarrassed as I was then, sitting there like that with Gilbert staring at me."

Could only imagine how helpless Ludwig must have felt, eye swollen shut, bruises all over his face, cuts, trying hard to sink down into his desk chair and disappear as Gilbert stood there in the frame and gawked at him. Must have been that same wide-eyed, taken-aback expression that Alfred had seen when he had confessed to Gilbert. When Gilbert first saw how things really were, what was really happening, that everything Ludwig had ever told him was a lie. To look at his little brother, that he had raised more as a son, and to see him so beaten up that he looked as if he had just come out of the boxing ring.

Not a fair fight.

"I had never heard Gilbert scream like that, as he did at me that day. I didn't even know his voice could sound like that. Toris came in a while later, and they barricaded me in there. They wouldn't let me leave until I told them the truth. I didn't want to, I kept making more excuses. I kept trying to explain to them that it wasn't like that, it wasn't what they thought, but they wouldn't let me leave and it was getting late, and I just kept thinking about how angry Ivan would be, if I got home late. I was _scared_ , so what could I do? I told them. I just wanted to go home."

Alfred turned his head to stare over at Ludwig, and even as Ludwig said it, it was impossible for Alfred to comprehend. He couldn't understand how Ludwig could have had Gilbert and Toris there, demanding the truth, and then still have held out for so long, denying it for so long.

When Alfred had screamed at Meg, she hadn't told him the truth, either, and it was beyond Alfred's breadth of comprehension.

How you could love someone so much that you protected them even as doing so could have meant your death?

"I didn't get to go home. Toris grabbed my arm, and they forced me to go back to Gilbert's. Just like that. Right then and there. I was terrified. I didn't want to go with them. I begged them the entire ride just to let me go home. I wanted to go back to Ivan. The next day, Gilbert gave me his ultimatum. It happened so fast. My head was a mess. I hadn't been away from Ivan in so long, and I didn't want to be. They wouldn't even let me call him. Gilbert took my phone. I finally agreed to apply for divorce. I think— I never really thought it would happen. I was stupid, and I thought if I told Gilbert that I would divorce Ivan, that maybe he would let me go back home. That I could even divorce Ivan if I _had_ to, but still live with him. Still be with him. I did every possible gymnastic in my head to convince myself that I could find a way around it."

Alfred had grown up protecting Meg from everyone and everything, had done everything right, had told her everything she wanted to hear, had been there without fail, but once she had fallen in love nothing else had mattered to her.

Ludwig did what Gilbert and Toris told him to do, all the while knowing in his heart that he wasn't really planning on following through. Ludwig had never planned on leaving Ivan, and wouldn't have done so had the circumstances not played out as they had.

What a dismal mental image for Alfred to have : Ludwig lying on his childhood bed as Toris tended his cuts and bruises, staring off at the wall and the entire while knowing that he was never going to really give Ivan up, even as Gilbert raged outside the door.

Ludwig would have just been another Meg, if not for the stroke of luck of Ivan beating him nearly to death but not quite.

"Five days later, the papers were ready. Gilbert told me to go home, give them to Ivan, demand he sign them, and then to return to the house precisely at seven with signed papers. I went. I was going to do as he said, but he had never once said that I couldn't be with Ivan after. He only said that I had to divorce, after all, and I planned on exploiting that loophole. Gilbert is very literal, very bound to his word, very professional, and I very much intended to use that against him."

Alfred's brow twitched in anger at that.

Stupid. The stupidest thing he had ever heard. Ludwig had only given those papers to Ivan because he had already thought he had found a way around it. All rational thought had left Ludwig by that point, so in love with Ivan that he refused to see reality, that he couldn't see things as they really were.

Meg's happy voice on the phone, as she had announced to Alfred that she was getting married, though surely by then she had already seen the shadows.

"I was so happy to go home. I thought I would walk in, explain to Ivan what had happened, give him the papers, let him sign, spend one more night with Gilbert just to appease him, and then afterwards I would be free once more to live my life. I was happy when I walked in, even though Ivan was furious that I had been gone. He beat me a little then, but it wasn't too bad, really—" Alfred scoffed despite himself, derisively, "—he was naturally upset. When your spouse disappears for days without a word, one tends to be angry."

Even now, Ludwig continued to play things off. Make it sound better.

Had anyone ever said such a stupid thing?

'Oh, yeah, he beat me, but just a little! Really. It wasn't that bad. Just a little beating, like normal people do.'

Gilbert had been beaten as a child. Perhaps because his father had been, and his father before that. Ludwig had been controlled and dominated but not beaten, because Toris had intervened in that endless circle, just enough to break one little bit of it. It was always a cycle, always, and when Ivan hit Ludwig, Ludwig just remembered the scars on Gilbert and thought that maybe it wasn't so bad, after all.

Bruises faded, and maybe Ludwig had even thought he was lucky that Ivan's beatings had never left him scarred like Gilbert. In that sense, maybe Ludwig considered Ivan loving and gentle, because he had seen someone else looking worse than him.

Alfred had been right after all : it _was_ because of Gilbert that Ludwig had become a victim.

He had just been wrong about the reason.

Ludwig had looked at Gilbert and reaffirmed to himself that he was in a better position than Gilbert ever had been, less helpless, and therefore everything was alright.

"Afterwards, when Ivan calmed down, I managed to tell him everything. I put the papers on the kitchen table. I thought he would understand, because I told him that after I gave them to Gilbert I would come right back to him. But he didn't see it the way I did. All he heard was that I was divorcing him. He went...crazy. That's all I can really call it. I had never seen him like _that_. I don't remember all of it. I just remember him saying that I would never leave him. I remember..." Ludwig hesitated suddenly, although he wanted to say something, and Alfred quickly knew why Ludwig had paused. "He grabbed a knife when I was on the floor. I thought then that he was going to kill me."

Oh, those awful images in his head.

Replaying everything over and over again. Wouldn't it ever stop?

Always Ludwig, and yet always someone else.

"He got down on top of me, and I remember seeing the knife in the air. I don't know what stopped him. I can't recall if I said anything. The next thing I knew, I was waking up in the hospital with Gilbert asleep on the bed beside me."

Hated that thought, all those scenarios Alfred had long envisioned.

And yet even though he didn't want to know, Alfred asked, "How did you get to the hospital? Did Gilbert come over to look for you when you didn't come home?"

A thoughtful silence.

Ludwig's voice was deeper and yet softer when he murmured, "No. Ivan took me. Just picked me up and walked me right into the hospital and handed me off to the nurses. He left right after, before anyone could speak to him."

Meg's husband had called the police for help immediately after stabbing her, so in a way Alfred wasn't really too surprised that Ivan had snapped out of that rage and panicked when he saw Ludwig was dying.

After all, no one could ever say those men hadn't really been in love.

"It had been three days when I woke up. My skull was fractured, so I had bled into my brain. That was why I was on the respirator. They had been waiting to see if I would wake up at all. Gilbert slept there all those nights, Toris said, because he thought if he was there I wouldn't dare to _not_ wake up." A humorless laugh. Dry. Wry. "Perhaps he was right. I was lucky to be alive, they said. I didn't feel very lucky. I just wanted to see Ivan. I love Gilbert, more than you know, but I was still disappointed that it was him there next to me when I woke up, and not Ivan."

How could anyone ever think like that?

Ludwig turned his head at long last, eyes locking onto Alfred's, and his expression was strange, because he looked so sad and yet he was smiling.

"I'm sorry. I don't know how to put into words very well what I'm tying to express. It sounds so stupid, I know, but I love him so much. Even though I knew there were other people that cared about me, he was what I wanted more than anything. Even if he was the worst thing for me, I would have kept him if I could. If I hadn't been forced, I would never have left him. I would have stayed with him, even if I had known that it would have ended with him killing me. Being away from him seemed just like being dead, anyway, so what was the difference? Somehow, it was scarier to me to think of not having Ivan than it was to think of him killing me. She must have felt that way, too. It wasn't _your_ fault. She just loved him. I know that Toris would have protected me, but I didn't _want_ him to. I guess—sometimes people don't make any sense."

Alfred was held under Ludwig's gaze, everything went bleary, there was something wet on the bridge of his nose, and Alfred realized with a jolt of horror that he had started crying.

Shit—

He turned his head quickly away, staring at the ceiling and attempting to appear stoic, and tried damn hard to pull it together. That awful feeling of tears trickling down his face and into his ears as he attempted to pretend that he wasn't crying at all. The last time he had cried had been upon that hill in Kitty Hawk, staring down at someone's glasses. Where would he stand and remember Ludwig?

In the mountains, where Ludwig had watched fireflies.

He couldn't stop crying, however he tried, because he had let it all build up too much.

Ludwig reached out, and grabbed Alfred's hand. They didn't speak anymore, and Alfred quietly cried.

Meg and Ludwig would have stood before one another and perfectly understood the other. They would have been able to lock eyes and comprehend, for they stood upon the same plane of existence. In their own universe, in some way, and Alfred could see them, but just couldn't connect. Even now, as Ludwig tried so _hard_ to explain, Alfred still couldn't understand. He grasped the basic concept, of course he did, always had, knew that they were fueled by love, but beyond that everything was mysterious.

Alfred could understand being a victim to an extent. He understood being beaten by his parents as a child, unable to escape. He understood not fighting back, because he had never once tried to hit his mother or father in self-defense. He got that, because that was beyond someone's control.

But he could never understand staying with someone like that because you _wanted_ to.

Ludwig tried his best to make Alfred understand the way Meg's mind had worked, but all Ludwig had accomplished was reaffirming to Alfred that he never _would_ see things the way they did. For the rest of his life, Alfred would never be able to view the world as Meg had, as Ludwig did, and it was clear to him, then.

Supposed all he could do was believe Ludwig when he said that it wasn't because Meg hadn't trusted and believed in him. She had just loved someone else more.

Didn't make it hurt any less.

As Alfred stared at the ceiling and his mind wandered, one thing from Ludwig's words stood out to him :

'I love him,' Ludwig had said.

Not, 'I loved him.'

Alfred always seemed to be one step behind.

Before he drifted into a restless sleep, he saw Ludwig there in his mind's eye, lying on the kitchen floor as Ivan held a knife above him. Somehow, even then, Alfred imagined that Ludwig had been smiling at Ivan.

Funny, how love could be the worst thing for some people.


	23. Two Protectors

**Chapter 23**

**Two Protectors**

Two days after the living room had been painted red, Alfred and Ludwig went home.

Lovino and Feliciano came by, as promised, and the four of them banded together to rip up the stained carpet and put in a new one. The nooses and record player were tossed out in the dumpster. Alfred called a locksmith, and all the locks were changed. Lovino painted over the entire living room. Feliciano and Ludwig hauled out the ruined sofa. Alfred installed a much more useful alarm system. Feliciano helped Lovino finish painting, and Ludwig took paint thinner and carefully cleaned the splashed piano free from crimson.

Every time Alfred stepped outside, he looked around in every direction, and somehow, even though he couldn't see anything, he knew that Ivan was somewhere, watching.

Always watching.

Gilbert and Toris went about their lives, oblivious, and Alfred intended to keep it that way, even as terror mounted.

Three days later, after intense labor, it was as if nothing had ever happened. No trace left of Ivan's invasion, and everything was pristine.

Alfred and Ludwig still stared up at the ceiling anxiously, neither of them sleeping well or deeply. Hard to close his eyes, when he knew that outside the bedroom door, there was very likely a shadow by the living room window.

Alfred kept his gun under his pillow.

He had nightmares every time he did actually fall asleep, sometimes of Ludwig and sometimes of Meg. But always they ended badly, as Alfred failed over and over and over again.

Maybe it wasn't his fault that Meg hadn't come to him, that she hadn't called him, that she hadn't told the truth, but it was his fault that he hadn't killed that man before he killed Meg. That _was_ his fault, if only that, and that was a mistake he wouldn't make again.

Ludwig was quiet, lackluster, dull.

It was like meeting him all over again; he had that same sad, defeated air that he had had when first Alfred had seen him. Unkempt, messy, pale and wan. Stressed and overwhelmed.

The ring in Alfred's room had been entirely forgotten, and so had all of the happiness that Ludwig and Alfred had so laboriously built around each other.

One night, as they lied in that awful silence, the snow ever falling outside, Ludwig suddenly whispered, out of nowhere, "Will you do something for me?"

"Anything," Alfred murmured back, as the wind outside howled.

A deep noise of contemplation in Ludwig's chest, and then another rumble.

"If I die, will you please tell Gilbert and Toris that it wasn't their fault? I don't ever want them to think it was."

Alfred opened his mouth, lost his voice, and just nodded his head.

What Ludwig was really saying was, 'I don't want them to be like _you_.' That was fair, valid, and so Alfred silently agreed, although he had sworn to himself it would never come to pass.

Dreary days.

Ludwig seemed to sink more and more with every one of them, because Alfred had lost the drive to keep his head above the water. Alfred was thrown off balance, startled, insecure and frightened, and was too sick with worry to bother offering Ludwig false cheer.

That time, as they lied on the couch together, Ludwig's head rested on Alfred's shoulder and Alfred's arm around him, there wasn't much comfort. They stayed silent, and glanced in intervals at the window and door.

With every little noise, Ludwig jumped.

Alfred had no reassurance to offer him.

Somehow, even when the doors were locked and the windows were shut and the lights were bright and everything looked so safe and clear, Alfred just felt like those nooses were still swinging there gently above their heads.

He glanced up sometimes, subconsciously.

Lovino and Feliciano texted Alfred very frequently, to check in, because perhaps they were paranoid now too.

Days.

December twentieth. The last day of work for Ludwig before the holiday break began.

Alfred hadn't gotten a single thing for Ludwig for Christmas, and they hadn't put up any decorations at all, not with the state of things. Who cared about the holiday, when that darkness was always lurking?

No cheer at all for either of them.

The safety was always off on Alfred's gun outside the door, because even that split second suddenly seemed like far too much of a risk if Ivan came charging out of nowhere.

They had their morning coffee over absolute silence, as the snow outside mixed a bit with sleet. Alfred glanced at Ludwig from time to time, but Ludwig was always staring off blankly into space. He didn't utter a word, and the subway ride was quiet. Anxious. Ludwig's foot tapped away furiously, as Alfred pressed him into the corner and kept his hands low and ready.

Ludwig walked in that same slumped, lethargic manner he had over a year ago, as Alfred trailed a pace behind him.

It occurred to Alfred suddenly that he had never once donned the suit Ludwig had gotten him last Christmas. They hadn't gone back out to the theatre. Seemed that something always came up.

They walked inside the building. People all around. Faces Alfred knew now by repeated exposure. Normal people that Alfred knew nothing about and yet envied.

The 'ding' of the elevator. Ludwig tucking his head into the corner, as Alfred watched the city glide away beneath him.

The grey sky was as dreary as the mood.

Everything seemed so mundane, seemed like such innocent banality, as the elevator stopped and Ludwig righted his balance and walked into the hall, and so Alfred hated even more the underlying dread. How could he have ever explained to someone how goddamn scary it could actually be, just to push open a door or fall asleep?

The hall passed.

Alfred's mind wandered as he trailed behind Ludwig habitually, the drab hall dim as they passed door after door.

Couldn't even just up and leave anymore. He couldn't take Ludwig and whisk him off to the mountains, because Ivan would follow them. Knew it in his heart that Ivan would have followed Ludwig all the way across the Earth, would never let go of him, and so moving was pointless. It was better to stay here for now, until Ivan was taken care of, because here at least he had fallback in so many other people. He had backup here, and if he moved Ludwig down south then Alfred was on his own.

Ludwig reached his office, grabbed the handle, pushed open the door, and walked in.

Alfred followed, and Ludwig flipped on the lights.

Alfred caught a glimpse of Ludwig's hair lit up in the bright lights as they crackled to life, and then there was a noise behind him.

A pain in the back of his head, and then darkness.

An odd stretch of time, in which he was aware and yet not lucid. He was aware that something had hit him on the back of the head, he was aware that he had fallen to floor, and he was aware that someone kicked him in the side twice. He was cognitive of those facts at some level, and yet he was very sure that he was dreaming, as everything spun and his vision was dark.

Stars.

Drifting there helplessly in that surreal lull of time that came when on the brink of unconsciousness.

Garbled voices. Shouting. Motion before his very faint sight.

Pounding in his head, an awful throb of pain, and Alfred was suddenly lucid enough to realize that he was lying on the floor of Ludwig's office, and that someone else was there. He drew his arms out from beneath him, on his stomach as he was, and tried to wake up enough to figure out what was going on.

He found the source of the commotion, bleary shadows, and tried to focus.

Took a while.

When the edges of his vision cleared, when he had enough clarity to see and comprehend, when he had enough control of his muscles to lift his head, oh, god—

Maybe he really was dreaming, because what he saw was a scene right out of the nightmares he had had every night for weeks. Just saw Ludwig there on the ground, Ivan atop him, knees on either side of him. A glint in the office lights. Alfred's bleary eyes managed to pinpoint the knife held in Ivan's huge hand, hanging up high there in the air above Ludwig. In Ivan's other hand, he held Ludwig's hair.

Dazed and confused and horrified, Alfred could only momentarily stare at the terrifying scene.

Felt as if time itself had been lost to space.

Everything froze up, the world stopped as it had once before, and for just one awful second, it wasn't even Ludwig lying there on the floor. Meg all over again, knife in her chest and gasping for air as blood pooled beneath.

Not again. Not this time. Alfred had sworn that this time would be different.

Ivan was heaving through his mouth, breathing so furiously and deeply that he seemed on the verge of hyperventilating, and Ludwig was entirely silent.

Ivan. How had he gotten in here? Had snuck in somehow the night before, must have, during closing. Had bunkered down in Ludwig's office all night, waiting for his moment. Had slipped past the security during the bustle of everyone leaving, had hidden behind the door when they had walked in, and now Alfred was once more on the brink of failure.

Hands shaking and high on adrenaline and terror, Alfred reached back and searched for his gun.

Couldn't find the goddamn thing.

Ivan had kicked him, and Alfred knew why then; to knock his gun out of reach before he regained full consciousness.

Ivan—

Ludwig just lied there, complacently, staring up at Ivan through wide, terrified eyes, brow scrunched and breathing through his mouth. In Ludwig's hands, he clenched the front of Ivan's shirt, and yet made absolutely no move to defend himself.

Ludwig was strong, big, determined and stubborn, able to protect himself, but he just wouldn't, not against Ivan.

Ludwig loved Ivan, and even there, against that horror and terror, it was still visible on Ludwig's face, in that near smile. Oh, that love there on Ludwig's face. Despite it all, however close Alfred had thought he had come, Ludwig had never fully turned off the lighthouse for Ivan, had never once managed to truly and completely let him go.

Lovebirds.

Ivan and Ludwig stared breathlessly at each other, as that knife hung high above, aimed at Ludwig's heart.

Ivan looked utterly crazed, no other word for it, absolutely out of his mind, and yet he was hesitating then, that knife held still and hanging in the void of space and time. As much as the craft he had once designed with a clear mind, Ivan was stuck up in the atmosphere, in space, and couldn't seem to find his way back down to Earth.

How he must have looked that night long ago, the last time he had held a knife over Ludwig. He hadn't been able to do it that time, and maybe now he was trying hard to follow through.

Every time Alfred saw Ivan, he somehow looked worse. His long, dirty hair hung into his eyes, his coat was full of holes, worn and threadbare, his cheeks somehow more prominent, his skin more sallow, his eyes seemed a bit sunken. Looked so bad, so terrible, was falling apart at the seams, and appeared in that moment to have descended completely into madness.

Ivan loved Ludwig so _much_ that he would have rather killed him than have him be with someone else.

Alfred made it up to his hands and knees, and looked around for his damn gun. Saw it gleaming there in the far corner of the office, having been kicked away by Ivan, but it was too far, too far, and with one mighty jerk Ivan could have easily plunged that knife straight into Ludwig's chest.

Like someone else in some other life, Ludwig wouldn't have stood a chance.

Alfred made it to one knee, and had a split second to make a decision : to charge for the gun, or at Ivan.

Instinctively, he chose the latter.

Alfred dug his boot into the floor, summoned every bit of strength he had, and sprung off his heel to lunge at Ivan and slam into him. Ivan had Ludwig on the floor against the wall, and at Alfred's blow Ivan's head connected with the wall with a rather loud crack. A cry of pain, and as when Alfred had fired the gun into the air, once more Ivan was momentarily incapacitated, as he reached up to clench his hair in his hand, hissing and gasping. He didn't drop the knife, though, and Alfred reached down to grab Ludwig's arm and very literally drag him right out from under stunned Ivan.

Alfred shoved Ludwig back and back, as his own balance was thrown off, and when Alfred was close to the gun, he staggered and fell onto his backside.

Ludwig just stood there, stupefied, and didn't run.

He stared at Ivan as he had when Ivan had been behind the gate.

An awful sense of terror, dread, as Ivan turned his head to them, wincing and hissing through his teeth like a snake and very clearly livid. There was a motion then as Ivan rested his hand against the wall and lifted himself onto one foot.

Alfred snatched out frantically for the gun, and almost had it, and his intention then was absolutely to shoot to kill. Maybe Ludwig could see that written on Alfred's face, maybe Ludwig knew that if Alfred picked up that gun that he would kill Ivan, because there was a deep cry and suddenly Ludwig had lunged forward and kicked the gun as hard as he could right out of Alfred's fingers before he could finish grasping it.

_No_ —!

" _Goddammit_!" Alfred shrieked, furiously, as he wrenched himself up to his feet, and had the need not been so dire, had the danger not been so great and present, Alfred swore to god he would have punched Ludwig then.

Couldn't—no time.

Instead, he used his fist to clench Ludwig's arm, and began dragging him furiously through the office door and down the hall as Ivan pulled himself up and began chasing after them.

Fuckin' Christ, Ludwig, the goddamn idiot, what the hell had he been thinking? They were both unarmed now, both of them, with that crazy man coming after them with a knife. Felt again like he was in a shitty horror movie then, he really did, and it never looked good for the leads.

The elevator was before them down the hall, so far away yet, and Alfred dragged Ludwig so furiously that Ludwig stumbled. Alfred nearly crashed face-first into the elevator, pushed the button, and as soon as he pressed the goddamn thing, it washed upon Alfred like a wave that he couldn't make it in time. Couldn't take the elevator, because Ivan would reach them long before those doors opened, and that knife would end up in one or both of them.

Stupid.

Operating entirely on instinct, not rational thought, Alfred suddenly jerked Ludwig back down the hall, right towards stalking Ivan, and then he turned sharply to the side, opened up a random office door, and shoved Ludwig in. He meant to follow, and then hesitated.

Ivan was far down the hall, and in between Alfred and Ivan there was a fire alarm.

He cried to Ludwig, "Stay here!" and then bolted down the hall towards Ivan, as Ludwig called his name a bit shrilly from behind.

Ivan saw him coming and sped up, thinking Alfred was ready to fight him, but Alfred's sights were fully on that fire alarm, and he reached it, scrambled to open the pane of plastic, and wrenched the alarm down as Ivan came at him.

The red lights started flashing, the alarm started blaring, and it was only because Ivan missed a step as he hissed in pain at the loud noise that Alfred didn't get stabbed. Only that, because Ivan was upon him before he could turn around and go back.

Alfred, fully in flight mode, jumped back as the knife swung.

Ivan slashed at him, far too closely. Swear to god he felt the fuckin' air move, close as the knife had come to his neck, and Alfred was very quickly to whirl around and sprint faster than he ever had back to that door where Ludwig was hanging out his head in panic.

Ivan's heavy boots behind him, as the alarm shrieked above.

Alfred made it to the door just in time, jumped in as Ivan slashed at him once more, and he shut it and leaned up against it to hold it closed as he scrambled for the lock.

In a daze, high on adrenaline, Alfred looked around.

An empty office. Figured. No one to help.

The alarm would get him attention and the fire department, and that was just enough because every second really did matter.

The door banged up and down beneath his back.

He lifted his chin, feet braced on the floor as Ivan slammed repeatedly into the door from the other side, and he called to Ludwig, "That desk—push it over!"

Ludwig jumped, looked around breathlessly, and began shoving the desk over to the door. When he was close enough, Alfred leapt forward, and together they pushed the heavy desk in front of the door and held it there.

But now what?

It wouldn't hold for long, because the wood was already splintering from massive Ivan's crazed blows.

Alfred realized that there was no way help would arrive before Ivan broke down that door, and there was no possible way he could have overpowered Ivan in that state. Ivan was pumped full of adrenaline and god knew what else, was out of his mind, and no one could have ever single-handedly stopped someone who had absolutely nothing to lose.

His phone was buzzing away in his pocket, and Alfred pulled it out in desperation and answered it.

Gilbert, naturally, who loudly screeched, _"Where is Ludwig?"_

Alfred didn't answer exactly, and instead replied, "Call the police, if they're not already on the way! And don't you come down here to this floor, don't do it, he's armed. Stay up there or get out of the building, but don't come down here!"

Gilbert cried, in a much more panicked voice, _"But is Ludwig_ alright _?"_

What could he say?

Neither of them would be if Ivan broke down that door, and it suddenly cracked more, splintered more, and Ludwig inhaled in panic, so Alfred just hung up and trusted Gilbert to use his influence to get the police here and yesterday.

What did he do until then?

Alfred looked around, helplessly, and found his options very, very limited. One thing was remarkably clear to him : if Ivan crashed through this door, Alfred would lose Ludwig. History would repeat itself, when Ivan drew back his great hand and plunged that knife into Ludwig's chest. Once more Alfred would be helpless to intervene.

Desperation led his actions then far more than rationality, and he turned his eyes to the office window. Beside of them were two other offices, and if they were just lucky enough, perhaps they weren't empty. If they weren't, then the workers in them would still be inside, because they would have come running out at the fire alarm only to see a crazed man in the hall with a knife, and no one would have _not_ run back into the safety of their office.

Alfred hoped.

He said to Ludwig, "Hold this here. Hard as you can."

Ludwig may or may not have heard Alfred, palms still on the desk and staring in alarm at that banging door. Alfred left him there and darted over to the window. He found the latch beneath, and lifted the pane of glass up, as far as it would go. One of those types of windows that opened up and out from the bottom, not sliding windows.

But just enough.

Between this window and the next window of the adjacent office, there wasn't a large gap. Not even a foot, maybe six or seven inches, easily close enough for Alfred to stick his arm out and pound on the glass.

The sleet was ever falling.

He waited, trying damn hard not to look at the ground an awful fifty-two stories below.

No answer. That office was empty, too.

He cursed, as the door behind him ever cracked, and then he moved to the left side of the room and opened up that window. Again, he reached out, not looking down, and pounded his fist on the glass. That time, he saw movement.

Oh, thank _god_!

He waved his hand, frantically, making it very obvious that he needed help (as if a man hanging out of a skyscraper window obviously didn't need help alone as it was), and in a few second the window lifted up and a woman poker her head out. She looked understandably terrified. First a fire alarm, then a man in the hall with a knife, and now some whacko banging on her office window at what felt like a thousand feet off the ground.

Before she could say anything, Alfred barked, "We need help! We need to get over there! Can you help pull me in?"

She opened her mouth, sputtered something, and then nodded.

Alfred saw his salvation there, but convincing Ludwig would be far harder.

It was just a few inches. One foot in the frame of one window, and one foot in the other. Just a few inches. Falling was theoretically impossible. It should have been easy enough, holding on to one window frame and sidestepping into the safety of the other office. And when they were inside, Alfred would wait for Ivan to bust down that door. Once the crazy bastard was inside the vacant office, Alfred would grab Ludwig and drag him down the empty hall to safety.

This was the plan, to avoid any physical confrontation with a man Alfred knew in his heart that he could never overpower. He bit down his pride for the benefit of someone else.

Alfred left the window, ran up, grabbed Ludwig's arm, and dragged him over. Ludwig was still staring away at the door.

It was a solid plan in theory, but the second Alfred grabbed Ludwig's face and forced his attention and uttered, "We're going to go to the next office," Ludwig's eyes shot open.

Could see immediately that this would not be easy. Even in Alfred's strong grip, Ludwig very fervently shook his head, as Alfred gave him another shake. Kinda hoped that if he scrambled Ludwig's brain just enough then that maybe the pale bastard would manage to take one step over the void. It was just one step! Only one.

Alfred poked his head out of the window, where the scared woman was yet waiting, and he called, "Are you ready? We're coming."

She nodded, poor thing, looking as petrified as Ludwig suddenly did.

What a workday from hell.

But when Alfred tried to drag Ludwig over to the window, Ludwig dug his heels in the ground and halted them. Alfred snapped his eyes over, far too furious and scared to want to deal with Ludwig's acrophobia, and he was rougher than he probably should have been when he brutally shoved Ludwig onto that windowsill. Ludwig tried his best at first, he did, and lifted up a shaking foot as Alfred mercilessly shoved him.

He just couldn't finish the task.

On the brink, foot in the air, Ludwig's courage suddenly faltered, and he jerkily withdrew from Alfred's hand, toppling backwards onto the floor. With a surge of terror, Alfred lifted his eyes to the ever splintering door, felt his hair stand on end, and reached down to grab Ludwig's shirt.

Not _now_ , not now, of all times, Ludwig, for Christ's sake, didn't need a panic attack right now—

Ludwig was breathing through his mouth, eyes wide and pulse pounding, and Alfred hated that look on his face but there was no time to coddle him, no time to comfort, and so instead Alfred shook Ludwig by the shoulders and hauled him forcibly upright.

Ludwig's pale eyes were locked onto that open window. His breathing was quick, rapid, shallow; an absolute second away from a full-blown panic attack, and then getting him across would be so much harder. There was no choice. Had to go, whether he wanted to or not. Whatever else happened, Alfred swore that he would be goddamned if he lost Ludwig now just because of vertigo. As he had said once before, vertigo wasn't a worthy cause of death, and Ludwig might have rather faced a knife than an open window but that choice was no longer his to make.

So Alfred wrapped his arms around Ludwig's waist, picked him clean off the ground, forcibly put him upon that windowsill, and damn did Ludwig ever raise hell, shrieking and struggling as he was.

Ludwig reached out, grabbed the windowsill in both hands, and clung to it so powerfully that Alfred was unable to move him.

A surge of anger, rage, fear above all else, as the door gave a loud crack.

So, for the first time, Alfred drew back his hand and slapped Ludwig as hard as he could across the face, hard as he woulda punched him, and Ludwig quieted down a little at that. His nose was already bleeding, hard as Alfred had hit him, and Alfred would feel shitty about later but now he was kinda busy.

Stunned and dazed, Ludwig was suddenly limp in Alfred's hands, breathing through his mouth, and Alfred called to the woman, "Grab him!"

She reached out, took hold of Ludwig's arm, and Alfred sat himself very carefully on the edge of the window, Ludwig very firmly in his hands as he tried to maneuver him from one window to the other.

Shit, Ludwig was suddenly fuckin' cryin', great, heaving for air as heavily as Ivan had been earlier, and was pale as a sheet.

The city bustled on beneath them, obliviously, and Ludwig was hanging above the only thing he was afraid of.

At the last second, as Alfred managed to shove Ludwig's leg into the other window, Ludwig suddenly whined, in a pitiful voice, "Please don't make me do this."

Too late. God, Alfred felt like shit. So long hating Gilbert for dangling Ludwig over a pane of glass, and now suddenly Alfred was shoving Ludwig outside of a skyscraper window. He'd never live this down, never, Ludwig was gonna hate him for this until the day he died.

The woman did her best, keeping a death-grip on Ludwig's arm as Alfred shoved him so carefully in.

"You're not gonna fall," Alfred vowed, as Ludwig hyperventilated. "I promise, just trust me, please, just trust me this once."

Ludwig shook his head, miserably, and now Ludwig had one leg and arm in the windowsill of the adjacent office, hair whipping in the wind and becoming matted with sleet, and now so pale that he was yellow.

"Pull him in!" Alfred called to the woman, and as Alfred gave Ludwig a great shove, earning an awful shriek he never wanted to hear again, the woman jerked Ludwig's arm and pulled him successfully through the window.

When Ludwig tumbled in, her hands around him, Alfred was very quick to follow, and not a goddamn second too soon, as the door finally caved in to massive Ivan's shoulder. Alfred spared one final glance, as the knife came through the small opening Ivan had created, and then he reached out and began sidestepping over into the next window.

Holy shit, that street so far down beneath him—

Even he was dizzy when he toppled into that adjacent office, and he looked around in a panic to see Ludwig leaning over a trashcan in the corner.

Yeah, Alfred was about to join him, but there wasn't much time.

He ran to the door, cracked it open just a bit, and peered out.

Ivan was ramming furiously into the door, snarling, and with every blow it caved in farther.

Alfred ran back to collect Ludwig, who had finished vomiting and was holding a shaking hand over his mouth. The woman looked back and forth in terror, and Alfred said to her, as he grabbed Ludwig's wrist, "Stay here. There's no fire. Just stay in here. He won't hurt you. He's not after you. Stay here."

She nodded, and Alfred meant to drag Ludwig, but was momentarily interrupted by a very hard slap to his face. Alfred was shocked, as Ludwig writhed in his arms like an angry cat and slapped him again. And then again, and Alfred reached up to grab Ludwig's wrist. Ludwig was positively livid, eyes wide and teeth clenched, cheeks flushed red with anger, and he tried to slap Alfred one more time but Alfred's grip prevented him from finishing.

Ludwig suddenly shrieked, "You fuckin' son of a _bitch_! _You bastard_! You— _You_ —! _Oh_!"

Alfred had never heard Ludwig curse like that, and then Ludwig, like Gilbert, was suddenly too furious to form words in English anymore and started screeching at Alfred in German. Oh, the awful things Ludwig must have been calling him!

Alfred was mesmerized by him, stupid as it was, and suddenly pressed forward to kiss ranting Ludwig even as Ludwig tried to slap him again.

When he pulled back, Ludwig sputtered to a halt, his brain apparently malfunctioning, and then Alfred muttered, deeply, "God, you're hot when you're angry."

Not the time or place, but hey, one of them could be dead in the next few minutes so why the hell not.

Ludwig's raised fist fell, and he seemed utterly dumbfounded. Befuddled.

Alfred used that to rush over to the door, and crack it open. He looked out again. The hall was empty; Ivan had broken into the office and was stalking around inside. Alfred grabbed Ludwig's wrist and yanked him along, dragging him out into the hall and down it.

They skidded into the elevator, wide open now from the prior attempt, as Alfred pressed the buttons very urgently, impatiently.

Wouldn't move.

Pale, trembling Ludwig finally spoke, to utter, "The fire alarm."

Ah, shit! The fuckin' elevator didn't work when the fire alarm had been pulled. His head was such a wreck, he had forgotten. He grabbed Ludwig's wrist again, and pulled him back out, this time in a desperate search for the stairwell. Couldn't be far.

Ludwig was staring down the hall back towards that office where Ivan raged, and Alfred knew why; the stairwell was past that door, on the other end. Alfred had tried to buy them time, and had made a wrong turn in his panic.

No choice but to make a break for it, so he dragged dazed Ludwig along once more down the hall, and this time past that broken open door.

Just in time to have Ivan stalking back out.

Ivan looked up, saw Alfred, and started his terrifying march. Alfred shoved Ludwig's back, screeching at him to fuckin' move it, and unbalanced Ludwig stumbled far too slowly down that hall. Alfred turned to face Ivan, if only to distract him, to slow him down, to halt him just long enough for Ludwig to safely make it to the staircase and start going down.

When Ivan stalked towards Alfred then, Alfred was sure he saw calamity all around him. That knife gleamed away, and Alfred was fairly certain that this was where and how he was going to die, overpowered by this crazy man and stabbed to death.

All the same, he stood his ground, because he had meant it when he had said that he would protect Ludwig at the cost of his own life.

Fortune had something else in mind for Alfred, though, and once more salvation showed its face.

The door to the stairwell behind him opened, and Lovino and Feliciano came barging down the hall, just in time, charging at Ivan and tackling him to the ground. Sent out by Gilbert, no doubt, and they made all the difference in that moment. Ivan had been so intent on murdering Alfred that he hadn't even braced up when the brothers came at him, as if in some strange way he hadn't even really noticed they were there.

Alfred meant to rush forward and help them, because Ivan was too strong. But Feliciano lifted his head, saw Alfred hesitating, and snarled, furiously, "Get outta here! _Go_!"

Right.

Alfred rushed down the hall, grabbed Ludwig's arm, and dragged him once more along, shoving him yet again into the nearest office. The plan had been the stairwell, but Alfred's conscience got the better of him; couldn't leave Lovino and Feliciano alone here on this floor with Ivan. Just couldn't do it. So he shoved Ludwig into another office instead, and hoped that Lovino or Feliciano would do what Alfred couldn't, and shoot Ivan. All they needed was to get enough traction to stand up and pull their guns, and everything ended.

Ludwig had been dragged and pushed and spun so much by then that he must have been dizzy and delirious as he was shoved through another threshold.

Once more, Alfred found himself with his back to a door, braced up and ready to fend off the wolf. If he heard cries of alarm, he'd go back out and help, he would, because he owed it to those two.

Ludwig stumbled back, at his absolute end, and fell onto his backside with a strangled noise of distress. Holding himself up on his palms, Ludwig stared at Alfred's knees, and seemed so lost.

Confused.

Awful minutes passed, as Alfred's mind raced with all of the possible terrible scenarios, and he closed his eyes at one point in utter exhaustion and began drifting away a little.

Thought he heard more voices outside.

Oh, how his head hurt.

He went out into space for a while there, and came to only at a vibration.

His phone suddenly started buzzing in his pocket, and Alfred woke up long enough to pull it out. Gilbert; a rush of adrenaline, fear, and Alfred was quick to answer, barking, breathlessly, "What's happening?"

A low, furious mutter.

_"He's detained. The police finally came."_

"About goddamn time!" Alfred spat back, coming down from fear into anger, and Gilbert was very quick to demand his little brother's immediate return. Alfred obliged, and cut the call.

Tentatively, carefully, Alfred opened the door and poked his head out.

Sure enough, Ivan was being pinned to the floor by Feliciano and Lovino and about five separate police officers, strong and riled up as he was. Took so many men to subdue that tiger, and yet even then Ivan was still struggling, screeching away in Russian.

His voice was absolutely terrifying, as usual.

Ludwig peered out from behind Alfred, stared down at Ivan, and looked a breath away from bursting into tears.

And not from fear.

Alfred grabbed Ludwig's arm, and dragged him out into the hall. Alfred ordered him to stay put, as he walked up to struggling Ivan with the intention of lending a hand if need be.

But then there was a cry, and Gilbert came sprinting suddenly down the hall, absolutely sprinting, and he ran straight at Ludwig, crashing full-force into him and pinning him up against the wall. Why, Alfred couldn't say, eyes focused on Ivan and ready to jump on the pile if another man was needed. Maybe that was why Gilbert pinned Ludwig to the wall, come to think, because Ludwig suddenly tried to push forward, was thwarted savagely by Gilbert, and so called, furiously, "Get _off_ of him!"

What?

Alfred snapped his eyes over to stare at Ludwig in furious awe, and Gilbert slammed Ludwig into the wall none too gently.

Get _off_?

Ivan had held a fuckin' knife over Ludwig's chest—

But at the sound of Ludwig's voice, Ivan suddenly stopped struggling. He fell still, and moved only his head then, turning it as best he could in Ludwig's direction, cheek on the floor and hair still clenched in Lovino's fist.

Somehow, someway, like a magnet, Ivan's bleary eyes found Ludwig, Ludwig looked down at him, and the stare between them was alarming, frightening, because they both looked suddenly so happy. As they always did when meeting again, after drifting about in dead space, out of the orbit of the other. Like finding their sun again. Ivan cracked a strange, breathless smile, and Ludwig was either about to start crying or laughing.

Ivan's dilated pupils took Ludwig in, and suddenly he whispered, in oddly clumsy English, "Hey, baby. I was looking everywhere for you. Where you been?"

Didn't either of them remember what had just _happened_?

Ivan's smile.

More footsteps down the hall, heavy and fast, and Alfred glanced over to see Toris skidding in, eyes wide and looking absolutely frantic. Toris searched the scene very quickly, and when he saw Ludwig hidden there behind Gilbert, he darted over to him and fell into Gilbert's side. Alfred watched as Gilbert and Toris created a literal human shield between Ivan and Ludwig, Gilbert pinning Ludwig and Toris watching Ivan like a hawk, and Alfred knew that Ludwig had meant it when he said that those two really did love him. They didn't express it, but it was there all the same.

With Ludwig momentarily out of sight, everything in Ivan seemed to suddenly collapse. He fell still and silent, squinted his eyes in pain, and slumped. No more movement, and he was successfully handcuffed. At last, Ivan was fully subdued, eyes closed and breathing through his mouth.

Alfred backed up, and turned his eyes to Ludwig.

Toris lowered his combative stance, and Gilbert was still clenching Ludwig, but now that Ludwig wasn't trying to get to Ivan the act seemed different. Hell, Alfred swore that Gilbert actually looked a little close to tears, for just a second.

Gilbert wasn't scared of anything, eh?

As Toris kept protective watch, never taking his eyes from Ivan, Gilbert lifted his hands up Ludwig's arms, down, back up, over his neck, over his face, over his hair, over his shoulders, inspecting him very ardently, and then his hands fell still on either side of Ludwig's neck. Gilbert gave Ludwig a shake, and murmured something in German. His voice was deep, and trembled. The only time Alfred had ever heard any emotion in Gilbert's voice that wasn't anger. Seemed nearly frantic, as he determined the state of his little brother, and Ludwig finally came back down to Earth for just a second, to meet his brother's eyes and respond.

Gilbert's eyes shut, in clearly a moment of relief, and then opened up again.

The ice was back, as Gilbert shoved Ludwig behind him and turned around, directly those steely eyes to Ivan.

Ivan wasn't moving anymore, face scrunched up in what was obviously pain, and no doubt the big bastard had worn himself out, as much hell as he had raised.

Ludwig shuffled around behind Gilbert and Toris, trying to see Ivan clearly.

Gilbert noticed that, bristled up, and used his most commanding, powerful voice then to belt, "Get him out of this building!"

The cops obeyed.

Gilbert looked beyond livid then, but Ludwig was safe and so Toris came forward, grabbed Gilbert's collar, and pulled him preemptively back. Toris always knew when Gilbert was close to blowing a gasket, and Ludwig must have been on perilously thin ice in that moment.

But shouldn't Gilbert have been pleased?

Alfred assumed that this, at long last, was the end of the line for Ivan. There was no getting out of this, not this, not after Ivan had stormed these premises in front of so many witnesses. What charges could Gilbert make stick to Ivan this time? So many, probably, but naturally the most important charge would be the one of attempted homicide. That would get Ivan the most time, the most years, maybe for the rest of his life, and Ludwig was imperative to that part.

Gilbert had what he wanted, and Ivan was finished.

Finally.

And the best part of it all was that it had all been done without Alfred becoming a murderer.

Alfred would have felt relieved then, ready to start his new life proper, if Ludwig hadn't looked so devastated.

As the police hauled heavy Ivan off, Ludwig took a step, as if he were actually planning on following, on going with them, and it was Alfred who grabbed his arm and forced him still. Gilbert's pale face was red and splotched from nothing short of rage, and Alfred asked, softly, "What are you doing?"

Ludwig looked back and forth between Alfred and Gilbert as if in a daze, as if he were stuck in some dreamlike place, and then Ludwig met Alfred's eyes and replied, matter-of-factly, "I'm going to get him out. I have to find him a lawyer—"

Didn't finish speaking.

In his fury, in his anger, Gilbert suddenly burst forward out of Toris' hands, and Alfred was rather stunned when Gilbert slapped Ludwig across the face with all of his might, so powerfully that Ludwig actually staggered, held upright only by Alfred still gripping him.

An awful, booming, dangerous bellow :

"Stop protecting him! _Stop_! You have to stop! This is enough! _Enough_ , Ludwig, enough! _Stop_!"

Alfred wrenched Ludwig back behind him, because he wouldn't let Gilbert hurt Ludwig anymore than he would have let Ivan.

Toris once more pounced, reclaimed furious Gilbert, and Alfred was a little shocked when Ludwig squirmed out of Alfred's hands and bravely came back out. Alfred tried to stop him, but Ludwig shook him off and stood before Gilbert without fear.

Ludwig opened his mouth, but Gilbert cut him off.

"You want to go? We'll go. But you're going to do as _I_ say, and press charges," Gilbert demanded. That voice, that look—Gilbert was far more terrifying in that instant than that crazed Ivan, and Ludwig must have felt that way, too, from the pulse hammering in his neck.

Alfred tried once more to pull Ludwig behind him, and was once more denied.

Ludwig was determined then to face Gilbert, and so Alfred could only watch.

Gilbert's piercing eyes locked onto Ludwig's, and Gilbert repeated, so dangerously, "Press charges."

Ludwig's shoulders slumped, his stance slouched, his chin lowered, he utterly deflated, seemed so defeated, and Alfred was very certain then that Ludwig had at long last fully caved in to his frightening brother and would concede.

Press charges, as he so desperately needed to.

An awful silence, as Alfred came forward and rested his hand on Ludwig's back, and that supportive touch seemed to give Ludwig strength, courage, for he lifted his head and met Gilbert's eyes.

Alfred waited for the submission.

But when Ludwig spoke, what he said stunned Alfred into absolute oblivion, he swore it. Was utterly aghast, appalled, flabbergasted.

Ludwig held Gilbert's deadly gaze, squared his shoulders, braced his legs, and said, defiantly, "No. I won't. Never. I won't do—"

Didn't finish speaking before Gilbert had stalked forward and slapped him again, then again, and Gilbert probably would have kept slapping Ludwig if Toris and Alfred hadn't physically separated them.

Oh, damn, was Gilbert ever furious, suddenly shrieking, and Alfred was actually pretty happy that Gilbert was screaming in German because he really didn't want to know what was making Ludwig's face crumple like that. The horrible things Gilbert must have been saying. Better not to know, and suddenly Alfred found himself assisting Toris, as they both grabbed Gilbert in their arms and struggled to hold him still. Toris tried murmuring to Gilbert as he often did, but this time it didn't seem to be working; whatever Toris whispered was utterly lost under the awful sound of Gilbert's screaming.

Alfred clenched Gilbert's collar and tried to keep him still, but Gilbert was strong and angry, and tried hard to break free. Even with Toris' assistance, keeping Gilbert from thrashing Ludwig was very difficult. At many points, Gilbert's feet were lifted clean off the ground, as Alfred and Toris practically throttled him to hold him back.

When Gilbert had enough clarity to form words in English again, the first thing he said to Alfred, as he tried to claw out of his arms, was a shrieked, "You're _fired_!"

Had Alfred not nearly received a head-butt to his nose then, he might have actually rolled his eyes.

Ivan was going to jail; Alfred didn't give a shit anymore if he was fired.

More long minutes of struggling, and Gilbert was only truly subdued and calmed down when Lovino and Feliciano came back and jumped in. Poor guys—musta been tired as hell, having fought brutally with Ivan and now having to once more tackle a raging bull.

Lovino had a black eye already forming, and Feliciano had a bit of blood on his chin, from either a split lip or a blow to the stomach.

Alfred went back over to Ludwig as soon as Gilbert was in three sets of arms, and grabbed him once more to yank him furiously behind him.

That time, having said his part, Ludwig didn't try to come back out.

Gilbert stopped struggling, choosing instead to stare at Ludwig in a wrathful, terrifying manner that up until then Alfred had never seen. Like looking into hell itself, surely, and Alfred was pretty sure that this was the first time he was able to truly understand how Gilbert had forced Ludwig to divorce. Anyone would have been petrified of that man, and Alfred shuddered a little.

But this time Ludwig was the one who didn't seem to be afraid of Gilbert, because he didn't flinch that time, didn't bow, didn't bend, didn't lower his eyes, and Alfred didn't know if it was because Gilbert was pinned and unable to charge, or if Ludwig had siphoned up all of the bravery and strength out of Ivan and into himself.

Ludwig suddenly wrenched his arm out of Alfred's hand, and said, with finality, "You all can come with me if you wish. Or stay here. I'm going, either way."

That was that, as usual with Ludwig's sentiments for Ivan, and it was Toris that time who uttered a curse under his breath. Gilbert was silent, freezing the world over with his furious stare, and Alfred just slumped. He really was just doing this all over again, wasn't he? Meg had run to her husband, not Alfred, and suddenly Ludwig was running once more to _his_ husband's aid, just like her, even though there was someone else right in front of him that loved him and would have done anything for him.

Ludwig lifted his chin in confidence and dignity, and walked away.

In the end, however hurt he was, Alfred followed.

He would keep Ludwig safe, come what may, even if that meant being second best again.


	24. The Downpour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N : The soap opera officially BEGINS. (go play the 'Days of Our Lives' theme song. Go on. Do it. I dare you.)

**Chapter 24**

**The Downpour**

The police station was cold.

Alfred had a million other places he would rather be, instead of this uninviting and dreary place. Old echoes and sentiments, lurking beneath the surface, as the four of them stood in a dimly lit room and watched through a pane of two-way glass as an officer interrogated Ivan.

Gilbert and Toris, for all their anger, had followed Ludwig as Alfred had, but for very different reasons.

Gilbert came, he said, to make sure that Ludwig wouldn't attempt yet again to subvert the justice system and get Ivan out of trouble. Impossible now, because Ivan had caused quite a bit of damage to that building, and so Ludwig had no control over Ivan's fate. The dumb bastard had shot himself in the foot this time, and even if Ludwig wouldn't press assault charges, Ivan was still going up the river for the rest of the chaos.

Ludwig stared at Ivan through the glass, hand up to his face as he nervously picked at his lip between his fingernails. Gilbert and Toris were focused, intent, unblinking, and Alfred just shifted his weight from one weary leg to the other and tried to stay standing.

So exhausted, out of nowhere. Too much for one day.

The officer in the room was speaking softly and calmly, because at the moment Ivan was. Ivan was cuffed to the metal chair, because he had shown a penchant for unpredictable violence and was too hard to take down once he started raging.

But for now Ivan was very calm, very collected, very soft-spoken, very still, and conversed with the police officer in a very polite manner, stance and voice respectful. If Alfred had closed his eyes, he would never have connected that soft, gentle voice with that disheveled, crazed man it was coming from.

His voice was _pretty_. Why was it so pretty? Jerk.

Ivan's speech was strange, though. Ludwig had always made it seem as if Ivan was natural with English, as proficient as Toris, and yet...

Alfred couldn't put his finger on it, but it was very odd. All the words were there, Ivan spoke with great intelligence and used the same big words and formal speech that Ludwig had used with Alfred in the beginning of their relationship, but they were placed into the sentence in odd ways. Comprehensible, but unnerving and confusing.

The officer asked, "So, Ivan, how did you get into that building last night?"

Calmly and with no hint of defiance, Ivan replied, "When everyone out marched, in I walked. Just like that. No one saw me. Simple, exceedingly."

Ivan spoke swiftly and surely, and seemed to have no idea whatsoever that anything was amiss in his speech. The last time Alfred had heard Ivan speak had been that day Ivan had scaled Gilbert's fence, so long ago, and he sounded very different now. Felt as if his speech back then had been much clearer, neater, more natural.

The officer suddenly slid a paper and pen forward, and asked, "Care to write that down for me?"

Alfred didn't know why he did that, because the officer had obviously already been writing everything down. Must have been some sort of procedure, or perhaps the officer had something in his head that he was curious about. Who knew, but Ivan reached up as high as he could for the long cuffs, so cooperative now, and began scribbling away.

Surprised Ivan could see to write at all, as his bangs hung down into his eyes from not taking care of himself.

In the painfully bright lights of the interrogation room, the very heavy stubble on Ivan's cheeks glinted.

Alfred glanced over when Toris came up, placed his lips fully against Gilbert's ear and began whispering, so softly and lowly that no one else could hear. Gilbert's brow twitched in annoyance, and Alfred could only imagine what they were plotting. Ludwig had no care, didn't look over at all, too focused on Ivan as he mindlessly scribbled.

A minute later, Ivan slid the paper as far as he could back across the table, clasping his hands once more politely in his lap, and the officer picked the paper up. He held it aloft, and Alfred could see him glancing atop the paper frequently back in intervals, expression very strange.

Regardless, the officer set the paper down, changed the tone of his voice, and suddenly pried, "Ivan, tell me more about your ex. Were you there for _him_?"

Ivan sat up straight, seemed to sharpen, focus, and his face was more tense and his voice lower when he stated, very surely, "I have not an ex. I have a husband."

The officer softened his voice as Ivan sharpened his own, uncannily, and tried, "Isn't there a pending divorce?"

Ivan braced up, absolutely stony and stiff, and his voice was resolute when he stated, firmly, "No. There is not."

Alfred scoffed, lightly. Well, that was news to _him_.

The officer merely gave a 'hm', and then stood up. He walked up to the door, and they all turned to look at him when he came out. The officer went straight to Ludwig, and held out the paper Ivan had written upon. Ludwig took it, looked down at it, and the officer asked, "Can you make sense of that?"

Alfred leaned over, nosily, as did Toris. Gilbert was glaring yet at Ivan, trying to appear very uninterested.

Ludwig's brow crinkled as he stared down at the paper, and Alfred could see why.

Instead of writing out a neat, concise statement, the paper was full of jagged, uneven lines of a sloppy cursive that Alfred could never in a million years have read. He was about ninety percent sure those weren't even real letters at all, or certainly not Latin ones at any rate. As garbled and frightening as the letters that had been written into the red paint at home.

Ludwig seemed as utterly clueless, eyes flitting restlessly over the paper as he tried so hard to read it. He couldn't, in the end, and that was obvious because Ludwig looked at the officer and tried to redirect everything by uttering, softly, "He's sick."

No, he wasn't. Ivan was crazy, and maybe that _was_ sick in some way, but Alfred wasn't going to let Ludwig give Ivan any leeway. Ludwig attempted to elicit sympathy and caring and understanding for Ivan, even now in this chilly police station.

Ludwig held the paper out to the officer, he took it, and then Ludwig asked, "Can I speak to him?"

"No," Gilbert immediately barked, because naturally Gilbert considered himself the very law itself.

This time, in this place, Gilbert was not in control, didn't own everyone around him, and the officer ignored Gilbert and led Ludwig to the door. Gilbert's pale face splotched red with his fury, and he kicked out angrily at the brick wall as Ludwig went alone into that room. The officer stayed outside.

Alfred, for once, couldn't blame Gilbert much for his outburst, because he felt the same. Woulda rather burnt this place down than see Ludwig walk into that room and sit down there before Ivan.

Ivan was staring at the table, hands still in his lap and very lost out in space, as he had been when he had stared at Alfred that day in front of the building. He didn't notice that Ludwig was there at all, in fact, until Ludwig suddenly lifted up his deep voice in a whisper.

"Hi."

Ivan was still for a moment, before he glanced up through his lashes and saw Ludwig. A slow inhale, a shift of Ivan's face, and he sat up straight again, eyes locked on Ludwig and lips parted.

Silence.

The expression on Ludwig's face was breaking Alfred's heart, it really was. Hated seeing it, and not just because Alfred couldn't stand Ludwig being distraught; he couldn't stand it because it was so easy to see how much Ludwig loved Ivan. Ludwig wasn't very expressive by nature, couldn't say many sentimental things, couldn't really be vocally loving, but it was so easy to see when Ludwig looked at Ivan how much adoration he felt.

Ivan, for his part, stared at Ludwig as if he had fallen down from the sky.

After a while, Ivan finally responded, just as softly, with a weak, "Hi."

Ludwig leaned forward, hands upon the table, and it was obvious how badly he wanted to touch Ivan. Couldn't reach him, across that wide table, and Ivan's cuffed wrists wouldn't have allowed him to stretch forward far enough for Ludwig to take his hands. Ludwig was in love, but had enough sense yet to keep himself out of Ivan's clutches. Small favors, Alfred supposed.

No one would have looked at those two then, staring so longingly at each other, and imagined that one had been holding a knife above the other.

Ivan's manic and unpredictable moods seemed to have no discernible trigger. Entirely random.

Ludwig leaned farther over the table, and whispered, soothingly, "Ivan, listen to me. I need you to ask them for a lawyer. You have to ask for a lawyer. Please."

That awful look of wrath on Gilbert's face. The cop scoffed, and rolled his eyes a little.

But Ivan was very silent, and didn't ask for a lawyer. Alfred wasn't even sure that Ivan knew where he was and what was happening.

Ludwig looked messy Ivan over, and asked, perhaps more to himself, "Is no one taking care of you?"

Ivan seemed momentarily confused, dazed, and suddenly his pale eyes lowered down and seemed to settle upon Ludwig's hand.

An unnerving stretch of silence, as Ivan's brow steadily lowered, and Alfred shivered a little when Ivan's eyes abruptly snapped back up, pinning Ludwig down, and he whispered, "You're leaving me."

That gentle voice had gone as deadly as Gilbert's did when he was livid.

Ludwig must have sensed the storm, for he pulled back, sitting up straight and removing his hands from the table, as if he knew that Ivan was shifting.

And, before Ludwig could speak, Ivan did shift.

He suddenly attempted to stand, was impeded by the cuffs, and Ivan's face contorted in rage as Ludwig leaned farther back. Ivan jerked his fists again, trying so hard to break free, and clearly with the intent of beating the hell out of Ludwig. This time, the bastard couldn't follow through, had to sit there and fume and writhe as his punching bag lied just out of reach, and Alfred found that immensely satisfying.

That look of frustration on Ivan's face as he tried hard to break out of those cuffs and just couldn't.

Ludwig's wide eyes and look of fear, as he lowered his shoulders and sunk down just a bit in the chair, trying to make himself smaller, invisible, in an instilled survival instinct.

Unable to beat Ludwig senseless, Ivan gave one final jerk, a great snarl, and then started screaming, in that awful, shrill, piercing voice Alfred was far more familiar with.

His words were as clumsy as ever.

"You dare! How _could_ you? You can't _leave_ me! I never let you go, you can't! There's no divorce, none, never will be, _swear_ it, as long as I'm—"

Ivan sputtered for a second, and then, like so many other angry men, he gave up on English and reverted back to his native tongue, rattling off a very long tirade in Russian.

As usual, Alfred was happier not knowing. Just watched Ludwig protectively, as Ludwig stared at the table and bowed to Ivan's verbal wrath.

The cop outside kept his arms crossed over his chest, always moderating the situation, and no doubt later on during their paperwork they would get a translator in to listen to this recorded conversation. Alfred pitied the poor man or woman that had to sit through this one and scribble away, as they likely squirmed from threat after awful threat coming from Ivan's mouth.

Toris, who understood everything Ivan was saying, looked positively furious, and that spoke volumes about whatever Ivan was yelling because Toris was so hard to shake.

Alfred opened his mouth, meaning to ask Toris for a translation, but lost his courage and faltered, turning wordlessly back to Ivan. Watching a crazy man screeching and spewing violent vitriol at the man Alfred intended to marry was understandably upsetting. Couldn't wait to see Ivan behind bars. Was gonna show up unannounced like he had once before and sit this time in front of Ivan, staring at him wordlessly until Ivan stalked off angrily.

Couldn't _wait_.

Ludwig raised a shaking hand up, and pinched the bridge of his nose, visibly quite unnerved and frazzled.

And then, in the middle of that awful shrieking, Ivan suddenly fell silent, hissed, and hung his head down far enough to lift a hand to clench it up in his dirty hair, eyes squinted and teeth grinding.

Ludwig reached out, but stopped short again of actually touching Ivan, and Alfred could see how much hesitating then really hurt Ludwig.

A long moment of Ivan breathing erratically and sharply, hisses and gasps, and then, just as abruptly, it seemed to pass. Ivan opened his eyes, sat up straight, his hand fell back down to his side, and he looked around blearily for a moment before his eyes settled on Ludwig.

As if he were a vehicle sputtering and struggling to fire, Ivan stared at Ludwig and seemed to be attempting to jump start.

Eventually, Ivan swallowed, tried to smile, and finally said, in barely a whisper, scarcely audible, "I'm sorry. What were you saying? I tried...attention, but... My head just really hurts."

No answer—Ludwig just bowed his head, squinted his eyes, and dissolved into tears.

For the first time, the very first time, Alfred stared at Ivan and wondered if maybe Ludwig hadn't really been all that foolish after all. If maybe there actually was something wrong with the bastard.

Didn't want that to be the case.

As Ludwig rested his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands, Ivan just stared at him from across the way, brow low and eyes confused, before finally asking, ever more softly, "Did I do wrong again? You know I never want to make you cry."

That just made Ludwig cry harder, naturally, and beside of Alfred, Toris spat a curse and walked away in a fit of anger. Alfred would rather have followed him, but would wait dutifully for Ludwig, however hard it sucked, although Gilbert had already fired him.

Ha... Yeah, sure.

The cop keeping watch just uttered, under his breath, "Oh, yeah, this son of a bitch is crazier than a bag of cats."

Was that it? Was Ivan just crazy?

Hated seeing Ludwig cry, when he tried so hard all the time to keep it together.

Alfred glanced over, and thought he glimpsed Gilbert swallowing.

The only thing worse than feeling devastated was to watch someone you loved feeling that way, and more than that being unable to do anything about it.

Minutes later, Toris came back, as Gilbert yet glared holes through Ivan even through that two-way glass, and when Ludwig finally gathered up the courage to stand up and walk around the table to lean over and embrace Ivan around the neck, Gilbert spoke.

His voice was soft, gentle, calm. For it, it was the most frightening voice Alfred had yet heard from Gilbert, the most chilling, and Alfred swore he shuddered.

"I want him tested. Take him to the hospital."

For just a second there, Alfred thought that maybe Gilbert was having doubts, too, second thoughts, that maybe Gilbert was also wondering if maybe Ludwig had been right.

But no.

Gilbert straightened to his full height, lifted his chin, attempting to murder Ivan with his eyes, and added, "Ludwig will not get him out of this. Test him. No one is going to walk into that court room and say that there is something wrong with him. He's finished. I won't let him get out of this. Test him."

Alfred's eyes ran over Gilbert for a while, before he exhaled and turned back to Ludwig and Ivan.

Didn't wanna be here.

Ivan just stared at Ludwig, appearing so dazed and bewildered as Ludwig bawled into his neck.

The last thing Alfred heard Ivan say in that police station was a soft question :

"Where's your ring, baby? Did you lose it? ...I'll get another one."

Had never wanted to see proud, stoic, icy Ludwig cry like that.

Alfred went into a bit of a stupor then, zoned out, and time was a momentary blur as his mind shut down defensively. They moved along, he was in a car at some point, and when Alfred came to clearly a while later, they were all walking into the hospital.

Gilbert may not have been the law, but his power certainly had influence over it, and so cuffed Ivan walked placidly between two officers, ready to be handed off over to waiting nurses. Ivan hadn't asked yet for a lawyer, but when the officer had asked Ivan if he would submit to testing, Ivan had just dumbly nodded his head.

What they would test for, exactly, Alfred had no clue. How did you test someone for crazy?

Didn't matter for too long.

Something must have agitated Ivan, because as the nurses came over, Alfred saw his eyes sharpen and brow crinkle, saw that shadow on his face, and braced up.

Just like that, that switch flipped again and Ivan became agitated, irate, angry, violent, and suddenly he was struggling against the officers holding him. Awful screaming, now so familiar, as Ivan tried to barge right out of their hands and to who the hell knew where. Didn't know what the hell was happening in Ivan's head, where he thought he was or why, but he tried very hard then to get away.

Did Ivan really know what was even going _on_?

The cops leapt upon him, struggled to subdue him, even though he was handcuffed, and the nurses scurried away as Alfred sprinted forward and ran into the fray. Gilbert once more pinned Ludwig to the wall, when Ludwig tried to rush forward in Ivan's defense.

Toris was in there, too, somewhere, and it was ridiculous that four grown men were needed just to take down one angry psycho. It was unbelievable, really, what the human body was capable of in the right circumstances, and Ivan's strength and determination were proof of that.

The nurses came back, one of them holding a syringe, and when Ivan had been tackled to the floor, the bravest nurse amongst them was the one to come forward and attempt to prick Ivan with it.

Not so easy, and she jumped back many times as Ivan kicked out and tried so hard to knock them all off.

Alfred looked over his shoulder, and didn't know what else to do but to screech at Ludwig, " _Say_ something!"

Ivan always seemed to fall still at the sound of Ludwig's voice.

An awful hesitation, a short silence as Ivan raged, and then finally a soft, mournful call.

"Ivan! I'm _here_. I'm over here. Look at me. I'm here. I won't leave you alone."

As predicted, Ivan suddenly calmed down, fell still, and turned his head in every direction as he desperately attempted to pinpoint Ludwig's location.

After a titanic struggle, the needle was at last plunged into Ivan's arm.

Ludwig's siren call had been just enough, but Alfred hated all the same how thick and trembling his voice had been.

Long, awful minutes, as Alfred kept the tightest grip he could on this insane bastard's neck, and Gilbert was strangling Ludwig about as fervently to keep him still.

No time to relax, because suddenly something shifted again.

Alfred didn't notice at first, because he was so focused on pinning Ivan, but then the nurses suddenly grabbed Alfred and tossed him aside. Alfred, dazed and very confused, sat up against the wall and watched as they once more piled on Ivan.

Couldn't comprehend at first, but when Ludwig writhed in Gilbert's arms and tried desperately to break free as he shouted, Alfred understood—Ivan was suddenly having a seizure.

That awful twitching.

One of these nurses screamed at the officers to remove Ivan's handcuffs, and they scrambled to do so as Ivan seized away there on the hard floor.

Ludwig was hauled back by Gilbert and Toris, suddenly bawling, and Alfred felt as if he had been hit on the head again.

Ah, fuck it, he really just wanted to go to sleep. Was that so much to ask?

Fell once more into the helpless void of space and time, dazed as he was, and just watched from the floor as the world passed on around him. A stretcher came, Ivan was picked up by the officers and four separate nurses, they hurriedly wheeled him away, and that was the last Alfred saw of that huge pain in the ass.

Ludwig had been dragged into a corner by Gilbert, and Alfred turned his bleary eyes over just in time to see another nurse injecting Ludwig with what was very likely a sedative. Someone grabbed Alfred's arm and hauled him upright, pushed him along, and shortly afterwards Alfred found himself sitting in a hospital waiting room.

Almost didn't even remember how he had gotten here.

The world was spinning.

Hours passed, as Toris shoved a coffee into Alfred's hand and tried to drag him out of his stupor. Alfred looked about the room, and saw drugged Ludwig sitting very quietly on a loveseat, Gilbert beside of him, holding him up straight with a hand to his shoulder.

Toris was pacing, restlessly, keeping constant watch over all three of them and looking quite hassled. His always neat hair was a damn mess, had come loose of its tie and was frazzled, sticking out, making him look more like an angry bush than a man.

Everyone looked ready to fall over dead, but there was still business to be done, very important business, and only for that was impatient and cranky Gilbert still sitting there.

More time passed, as Ludwig lifted his head a bit more and seemed to be steadily coming out of his daze. Still fairly calm, for now, thankfully, and Alfred hoped it stayed that way.

The clock ticked, and Gilbert glanced frequently as his watch, foot tapping away.

What was taking so _long_?

Night had fallen by the time anyone bothered to come into that waiting room and let them in on anything, and Alfred was as pissed off by then as Gilbert was, sore and hungry and tired and scared and everything else.

The door clicked open, and someone came inside.

A doctor, and Ludwig was the first to see him and leap upright to his feet with an inhale, dull eyes clearing up in a second as adrenaline flowed.

Alfred was quick to follow, feeling jittery and terrified. Terrified, because he didn't know what was going to happen. It was wrong, it was selfish, it made him a shitty guy, yeah, but Alfred didn't _want_ there to be anything wrong with Ivan. Wanted all of those tests to be clear, because he didn't want Ivan to have an excuse. Didn't want Ivan to have a chance. Didn't want Ivan coming back into Ludwig's life. Wanted Ivan to just be a bad guy, because Ivan was Ludwig's husband, and if it came down to the wire, if it came time to make a decision, Alfred wasn't sure at all where he stood, what chance he would have, against Ivan. Couldn't look at everything then and say for sure that Ludwig would have chosen him.

Ludwig loved Ivan so _much_.

Terror.

Gilbert didn't look much happier than Alfred, and he stood up and crossed his arms, glowering at the wall and making it clear that he wasn't at all interested in Ivan's wellbeing outside of the legal ramifications.

The doctor looked them over in turn, and came up to Alfred first. Likely because Alfred was the most approachable in that moment; Ludwig was damn-near distraught, Toris was creepily condescending, and Gilbert looked as if he was a breath away from pulling out a flamethrower and torching the entire hospital and everyone in it.

The doctor, a short little Asian man that looked friendly enough, extended his hand, and said, "I'm Kiku Honda. I'll be one of Ivan's doctors."

Already, Alfred was squirming.

Ivan's doctor? One of? How the hell many were there? That didn't sound good. Made it sound like something actually was wrong with him, like something actually was happening, that maybe that test had shown something after all.

Gilbert's already narrow eyes narrowed ever more, into dangerous slits, and he was probably very close to setting the doctor on fire.

Ludwig took a step forward, and maybe the doctor just knew then who Ludwig was, considering that he was the only one there that looked sad and upset.

"Are you his spouse?"

Ludwig nodded, very eagerly, and Alfred hated it.

...true, though.

The doctor extended his hand in Ludwig's direction, and was quick to say, "Well! I'm familiar with everything now. I've already spoken to the officers. And I do have some news for you. Given the situation, however, I'm not sure if it's good or bad news, so I'm just going to explain everything to you, as best I can."

Ludwig stood straight and tall, chin high and feet braced, and even though he looked ready for business, looked calm and collected, Alfred could see how torn up he was. Was so pale, his pulse pounding away in his neck, and his fists were clenched at his sides to minimize their trembling.

Awaiting his husband's fate.

They all were, really, and each of them had very distinct reasons.

Ivan's health had a ripple effect, and some of those ripples could have been tsunamis.

The doctor finally said, very directly, "Ivan has a brain tumor. Malignant, in the frontal lobe."

Ludwig's awful inhale.

Gilbert's test backfired, and blew up in everyone's collective face.


	25. The Terminal Show

**Chapter 25**

**The Terminal Show**

A brain tumor?

A brain tumor—shoulda known, somehow. Nothing that Alfred had expected, and yet everything he should have seen coming. Had listened to Ludwig saying, time and time and time again, that something was _wrong_ with Ivan, and he had never wanted to believe it. No one in Ludwig's life outside of him had liked Ivan, just because of where Ivan was from, and so no one had ever tried to help Ludwig. Just let him run it alone, and both Ivan and Ludwig had suffered for it.

Just like that, Ludwig's façade fell, collapsed, as he inhaled and hung his head, face crumpling and looking absolutely devastated.

Alfred turned his head aside and muttered a low curse, as Toris pinched the bridge of his nose in agitation.

Gilbert sat still, and didn't move a muscle. Alfred see how tightly his jaw was clenched, the pulse in his neck, the flaring of his nostrils, and knew that Gilbert was absolutely _livid_. Had scarcely ever seen such silent rage as he did in that moment, as Gilbert imploded, having accidentally ruined his own plans. Gilbert had sought to solidify his position, and instead had blown everyone out of the water.

A brain tumor—what kind of legal ramifications did _that_ have? Oh, dammit all! How could Alfred ever be glad that Ivan was going to jail like _this_? He had been victorious for an entire twelve damn hours. Pitiful.

Everyone was imploding.

But Ludwig?

Alfred watched in disbelief as Ludwig suddenly smiled then, despite it all, and whispered to no one, "I knew it. I _knew_ it! I knew it. I knew it all along, I knew something was wrong with him. I knew it wasn't his fault. I _knew_ it."

Ludwig seemed elated suddenly, seemed satisfied, seemed vindicated. For just a surreal moment, Ludwig had looked _happy_. Ludwig's constant, unwavering belief in Ivan was suddenly justified, and that terrified Alfred beyond all words.

Ludwig was vindicated, and Alfred was _scared_.

'I knew it,' he said, because he had, all along, despite no one ever listening to him. Ludwig had always clung to the notion that it wasn't Ivan's fault, and now Alfred was afraid that Ludwig had a little ammunition to back that up. Hated it.

That elation passed quickly enough, as Ludwig clenched his jaw and squinted his eyes, trying very hard to keep composed and not burst into tears.

It was Gilbert who broke the silence then and rumbled, in that deep, dangerous voice, "This does _not_ change anything. This doesn't excuse anything he did. It doesn't."

Ludwig glanced up, miserably, and yet it was the small doctor who risked Gilbert's wrath by interjecting, carefully, "It doesn't excuse it, no. But it may help explain it."

Yeah. That was kinda the problem.

Gilbert looked furious, but sat still instead of raging, and the doctor opened up the folder in his hand, walked over to the whiteboard, turned on a bright light, and hung up radiographic photos. Gilbert couldn't pitch a fit just yet, because he still needed to determine the state of his criminal case against Ivan. Had to sit here and listen, even if inside he was screeching.

The doctor turned to Ludwig, briefly, and added, "I'm not here to tell you what to feel or think. I'm just here to tell you the medical facts. That's all."

Ludwig nodded.

Toris, for his part, looked angrily fascinated, listening very intently despite the crinkle of his brow.

Ludwig was pale and exhausted, trying so hard to be strong and alert that he might have been overexerting himself. Looked about to fall over, and Alfred came over to his side, very closely, just in case he tottered.

The doctor raised his hand and pointed to a spot on the photographs, clearly a shot of Ivan's brain, and ran his finger along a shadow.

Gilbert pulled a little notepad out of his suit pocket, a pen, and started scribbling away, no doubt taking notes on everything so that he could find thirty different lawyers to get around every word the doctor was about to utter.

Alfred wouldn't deny his own curiosity, despite how much he was ready to cling to his hatred of Ivan and not let anything sway him.

"This here, this dark spot, is the tumor. It's about the size of a small orange, more or less."

Alfred narrowed his eyes, studying the photos, and it was very easy to see that spot there. Dark and smooth, surrounded on all sides by a white lining. A large patch that stood out against everything else. Alfred was surprised, more than anything, at how _big_ it was. The size of an orange seemed ridiculously staggering, when you imagined trying to cram an orange into your brain. Christ. It wasn't perfectly circular. Looked more like a lake in the middle of the mountains, seen from above. Uneven and oblong, jagged edges.

"We find it here in the frontal lobe. This is where our personality comes into play. Emotions, creativity, intelligence, morality, impulse control, motor skills, all of that is held here. Now, any time there is an injury to the brain, the most common side effect is a shift in temperament. Concussions, lesions, scarring, all can cause severe and sudden changes in personality. We see it all the time in sports. Think of boxers, football players. You've seen that on the news, I'm sure. What's happening here is that this tumor is pressing against all of this tissue, and the more it grows the more it presses. The brain has to compress to accommodate the growth, and neurological function is stunted."

Alfred was all ears then because, much like Toris, he was suddenly fascinated. It was interesting, no one could deny that, and even cranky Gilbert was glancing over from time to time, studying the photo in between his furious scribbling.

Ludwig's gaze was as sharp as a razor then, focused and intent.

"Given the size of this tumor, it's certainly been there a while. Maybe two or three years. It's a slow grower. And given how much space it's taking up, what I could absolutely expect is a very severe shift in emotional stability. Because of the degenerated neurons, every stimulation, however small, would cause a reaction. And the most common reaction to any effect would be anger, because it's the most primal response and the one that uses the least amount of brain work. I would expect that anyone with this tumor in this position would be erratic, violent, aggressive. Most likely, there would be a decrease in motor function, in clarity. Hobbies and likes, for example, would likely be abandoned. Migraines. Visual and auditory hallucinations. Trouble sleeping. Confusion. Lethargy. There's no longer any distinction between right and wrong, and all reactions would be spontaneous. Impulsive."

All too familiar.

Everything Ludwig had ever said. Ivan lying on the couch, staring blankly away. No longer being able to play the piano. Ivan saying, so many times, that his head hurt. So sensitive to loud noises. Ivan no longer speaking, angry at nothing at all, changing so much. Flying into a rage with the drop of a pin.

Ludwig had said that sometimes he wasn't sure that Ivan had recognized him.

Ivan had looked so lost and confused there in the police station.

It had just come at the wrong time; Ivan's mother had died around that time, the time the tumor had started forming, and so Ivan's grief over his mother's death had masked the first symptoms. It had been chalked up to by Ludwig as depression, because those symptoms were so similar. If Ivan's mother hadn't died, it would have been so much more obvious to Ludwig that there had been something very wrong with Ivan, and Ludwig no doubt would have convinced Ivan to go to the doctor.

A very unfortunate chain of ill-timed events.

Toris grimaced, ran a hand through his messy hair, and muttered to himself, "Excellent. So the bastard wasn't crazy, after all."

That was _not_ a happy 'excellent', to say the least.

"No," the doctor supplied, easily, dark eyes meeting Toris' with no hint of unease. "Not crazy. Just sick."

Ludwig had always said so, every day.

Ludwig sucked in a breath then, hung his head, and whispered, "This is my fault. I knew something was wrong with him, I always did, but I didn't do anything about it. I didn't. I just...let him go."

Alfred opened his mouth to offer comfort, reassurance, but nothing came out.

"It's not anyone's fault," the doctor said, in Alfred's stead. "It's no one's fault. It's just bad luck. Ivan got a bad hand, and it's not anyone's fault. These things happen. You couldn't have known."

Ludwig didn't seem very convinced.

Alfred felt awful then, and didn't even know why or for whom. Wanted to go home and go to sleep for days and pretend none of this had ever happened. Pretend that Ivan was still a villain, with no excuse. Didn't want this, hated this new muddled mess of grey. Didn't want there to be any way possible for Ivan to wriggle back into Ludwig's arms, because god knew that Ludwig would have scooped Ivan back up in a heartbeat, forgetting Alfred's existence entirely.

At last, Ludwig gathered up his courage and asked what all of them really wanted to know.

"Can it be... Will he...survive?"

Gilbert looked up, pen ready and eyes smoldering. Alfred knew what Gilbert wanted to hear, because if Gilbert couldn't get Ivan sent to jail then a death sentence was just as good, if not better.

At that, the doctor's face became quite serious, and Ludwig paled somehow ever more, and yet he still stood tall and determined. As if Ludwig had given up on Ivan once and was vowing to never do it again. That wasn't right though, because really, in some way, Ludwig had never given up on Ivan. Had left him, yeah, but had always believed in him, had never once been willing to accept that Ivan wasn't a good man.

As Ivan had forced himself on through sickness to do whatever it took to get to Ludwig, Ludwig defied his own body then to be strong and ready to get to Ivan.

But, oh, that awful silence, as the doctor stared at Ludwig.

Ludwig's courage was faltering.

A look around at them all, and then the doctor spoke.

"The tumor is...theoretically operable. But there's a bit more to it. Now—we have options. And an entire team here to help."

Ludwig shifted his weight, and in doing so he staggered just a bit, and Alfred reacted instinctively and reached out, grabbing him by the arm and holding him steady. The doctor seemed a bit concerned, and was quick to walk over to the loveseat, ushering Ludwig down and sitting beside of him.

Ludwig was so pale, so shaky, and Alfred couldn't take seeing him like that. Somehow, this was worse than Ivan screaming at Ludwig in the station had been, as Ludwig clung yet to hope despite everything seeming quite grim.

Before the doctor could continue, Ludwig gave a strange, wavering scoff, an odd laugh, and asked, "Theoretically operable? What does that mean?"

A good question.

Toris went over to Gilbert's side, and as usual leaned in to whisper fervently in Gilbert's ear. Gilbert turned that time and whispered back, as they no doubt sought to undermine every bit of work that Ludwig was about to put into Ivan.

Alfred was rather torn between them, because he didn't know how he felt.

Ivan was sick, but Gilbert was right—it didn't excuse anything, it didn't, and Alfred might have only felt that way because he loved Ludwig and didn't want to lose him. He needed Ivan to continue being a villain, because Ludwig loved Ivan more than he did Alfred and without that boost Alfred would fall too far behind.

This seemed a very dangerous precedent to Alfred; if Ivan really was sick, then Ludwig's dumb behavior as a victim had justification, and no lesson would really be learned. Ludwig really was just Meg, and Meg had just as gladly proclaimed that her husband was a good man. She had been wrong, and now Ludwig might not have been wrong, and instead of Ludwig being stupid and weak, Ludwig could now say that he had been right all along and had done the wrong thing for the right reason.

That wasn't right.

The doctor held Ludwig's gaze, tried to smile, and kept his voice steady.

"I'll explain. Theoretically operable means that I can get in there and remove most of the tumor. But— Well! One thing at a time. Here's what I want to do : I want to operate immediately, and remove the majority of the tumor. I'm the neuro-oncologist, so I'll be performing this operation personally with a neurosurgeon. Afterwards, two weeks later, we would operate again, and remove what is left. It's too large to remove it all at once. Hopefully, after a second surgery, we would get all of it. After that, radiation and chemotherapy would be necessary, to slow the spread. That's where our neuroradiologist comes in. This is the plan of action."

A sudden hesitation, and Ludwig squirmed, the cold sweat visible on his brow.

The doctor seemed to gather his nerves, and continued, in a quiet voice, "The thing is... Theoretically means that...the first operation, to remove the majority of the brain tumor, is exceptionally risky. I can _theoretically_ remove that tumor, but the chance of patient mortality is higher than the chance of survival. It's the most dangerous part of the path to recovery. I would love to be optimistic for you, I really would, but I have to tell you that Ivan's chances of surviving the surgery will be...very, very slim. Very slim. As sick as he is, and with the size of the tumor. We've come into this game very late."

Ludwig squinted his eyes and pursed his lips, steeling himself and trying to be brave, trying to hold it together and stay focused, but anyone could see how the world was dissolving around him.

It was Toris who asked, "How slim?"

A hesitation.

"Less than...thirty percent. Optimistically, of course."

Sounded more like a shot in the dark to Alfred, and with something so serious. The doctor said 'thirty' to ease Ludwig's mind a little, but it was easy for all of them to see that he really meant 'fifteen'.

After a moment of deep breathing, Ludwig opened his eyes, looked up, and asked, "And without the surgery?"

The doctor shook his head.

"Without the surgery, Ivan will die. I would give him...two months, at the most. That's being generous. The chances of surviving the surgery are slim, but there is a chance. A very tiny one, but a chance. Without it, there's none. So, we'll need to make some decisions. Ivan is unconscious now. We've put him into a medically induced coma. He's not lucid, so, as his spouse, legally this decision falls to you. I need you to decide if you want me to operate or no."

Too much. Asking that of anyone was too much, and it was so unfair to ask that of Ludwig of all people, who already had too many burdens upon his shoulders. Ludwig was already drowning, and this was just throwing another anchor down upon him.

Ludwig opened his mouth, lost his voice, and so it was Toris who asked, quite emotionlessly, " _If_ he survives this operation, what are his long-term chances of survival?"

Again, the doctor fell silent, as Ludwig foundered.

Gilbert's foot had started tapping furiously again, and from the way his pen was scratching away in mindless circles within his left hand, Alfred was pretty sure that Gilbert had actually broken a little bit in emotional overload. Misfiring on more than a few cylinders, for sure, as the pen no doubt pierced right through the paper at many points.

The doctor met Ludwig's eyes, lifted his chin, and said, "It's hard to say. It could be...five months or five years. We won't know until we see how he responds to treatment. It's already spread beyond the tumor."

Five years was the best the doctor could come up with? Five damn years? That was the grand reward to this incredibly dangerous operation? That was Ludwig's comfort, in having to choose in what manner to risk Ivan's life? Five years?

Toris was the one to say the word the doctor was trying so hard to avoid, as he surmised, "So it's terminal, then."

Terminal. A terrifying, hopeless word that seemed so innocent on paper.

Ludwig looked as if _he_ had received that diagnosis, not Ivan. That heartbreaking look on his face.

Suddenly, the doctor reached forward and placed his hand over Ludwig's, and said, with every bit of comfort a man could attempt to offer in this situation, "Listen to me, Ludwig. Without the operation, Ivan will die, but he's going to die like _this_. As he is now. Not himself. Violent and dangerous. If we operate and he survives, he may— If he still dies in five months, then at least without most of the tumor he'll be more like himself. He'll be as he was before, more or less. He won't be in so much pain. My duty to my patient is to see them survive, and if that's impossible, then to at least see them die with as much dignity as I can give them."

Dignity?

Ludwig's eyes squinted as he started crying, despite his best efforts, and Alfred scoffed very lightly to himself.

What dignity could there ever be in death? That was some bullshit—there was nothing dignified in it, nothing, even if a man died on his own terms. There had been nothing _dignified_ in Meg lying there in her own blood with a knife in her chest. There would be nothing dignified now in Ivan, as he lied unconscious in a hospital bed and was at the mercy of others to decide his fate for him. And even if Ivan had woken up right then with a clear head and decided to just let go, it still wouldn't be dignified.

Not dignified.

A man could live with all the dignity he desired for himself, but when dying every bit of that was stripped away, as he lied helpless.

There was no dignity in death. No honor. No glory.

Just pain and hopelessness. Loneliness. Every fear a man had ever had, playing out right there before him as he was unable to stop it.

The doctor's hand rested yet above Ludwig's, as Gilbert and Toris butted heads and furiously whispered to each other.

The doctor wasn't saying to Ludwig, 'Let's operate and save Ivan's life'. He was saying, 'Let's operate and give him just a little more time on the Earth.'

Not salvation. Just a temporary bailing of a sinking ship.

Extending a lease.

It was too much, so much, but Ludwig was one of the most tenacious men that Alfred had ever known, and as he always did, Ludwig did what he thought was right. He looked up, met the doctor's eyes, and once more Alfred could see that defiance on his face. This time, Ludwig wasn't defying Gilbert; he was defying fate itself, and it was very clear to everyone there that Ludwig wasn't going to let Ivan go down without a hell of a fight. Ludwig had leapt without fear in front of Alfred's gun, and Ludwig would very easily stand now before this diagnosis and tell it where to shove it.

"Do the surgery."

The doctor clapped Ludwig on the shoulder, smiled and seemed quite cheery, and stood up.

A vow.

"I promise, Ludwig, I promise you that I'll do my best. I'll do my absolute best to get Ivan through it. Please know that I'll try."

Ludwig just smiled, sadly, and murmured, "Thank you."

Well, then. Here they were.

The doctor looked up at the clock, and said, "We'll operate at six tomorrow morning. Go get some sleep."

Sleep? Alfred was pretty sure Ludwig wasn't going to sleep for one second until the surgery was finished, in one manner or another.

Sure enough, Ludwig stood up and asked, quickly, "Can I see him?"

As in the police station, Gilbert immediately barked, "No."

As before, Gilbert had no control here, and the doctor ignored him, placing his hand on Ludwig's back and saying, "I'll take you."

Gilbert actually huffed that time, offended no doubt by his sudden lack of control over Ludwig, and Alfred just left those two behind there in the waiting room to follow Ludwig blindly, as he always did.

Felt more like a dog now than a bodyguard.

Oh...

That was right. Alfred wasn't a bodyguard anymore, and not because Gilbert had fired him. Wasn't a bodyguard anymore, because Ludwig didn't need protection now. Ivan was out of commission, unconscious and helpless in a hospital bed, on the brink of death.

No one left for Alfred to protect him from.

Useless, as he always had been.

And now more than ever Alfred felt out of place, as he walked down those quiet halls, that awful chemical smell of a hospital permeating his nostrils, trailing behind a man who seemed to have forgotten he existed. Ludwig was so focused on Ivan that he probably didn't remember Alfred was actually here with him, and that Alfred was the one sleeping in his bed.

Maybe now wasn't the time for Alfred's petty insecurities, but Alfred was too egotistical to leave much room for others.

The doctor turned and pushed open a door, into a dimly lit room.

"Take your time," the doctor murmured, eyeing Ludwig quite fondly, and stayed out in the hall.

It must have been hard to have your occupation revolve around death, and the doctor seemed to find Ludwig to his liking, because Ludwig was brave and stubborn and fearless and those men attracted similar minded people.

When the doctor looked at Alfred, however, his expression was quite blank.

Even this man he had just met knew how useless Alfred was.

Alfred stood there for a while, awkwardly, and then Ludwig stepped softly into the room, moving silently and like a phantom. Alfred followed him inside, but stayed far back in the doorframe, because it didn't feel right to him to intrude. Not his place, not even a little, and he didn't belong there. Alfred hated it when Ludwig went to Ivan, but he couldn't interrupt, couldn't insert himself, because he was scared that Ludwig would start to hate him for it.

Ludwig's resentment terrified him, so Alfred just crossed his arms and watched.

It was very unnerving, Alfred could say, seeing Ivan hooked up to those IVs, on a respirator, wrists handcuffed to the bed, knocked out by drugs and so helpless. Ivan's life seemed to be over, either way. Get better somehow and possibly go to jail, or fail to win and fade away here in this hospital.

Maybe it had been Ivan, all along, who hadn't stood a chance.

However crazy Ivan had been, whatever was going on in his damaged brain, Ivan had been unable to bring down the knife on two occasions. Just hadn't been able to do it, and even in the mist and dark, the sound of Ludwig's voice had overtaken the pain and daze and calmed Ivan down, if only for a moment. When Ludwig had been dying, the clinging little bit of the real Ivan that had been left had miraculously roared to the forefront, to get Ludwig to the hospital before it was too late. Ivan forced himself along, and always to get to Ludwig, because maybe Ludwig had been the only thing to Ivan that made sense anymore.

What did Ivan see? How different did the world look, when you were no longer in control of your own mind and actions?

Ludwig leaned over unconscious Ivan, staring down very intently, clearly taking in his husband as much as he could, just in case it would be the last time he ever saw him. Ludwig reached out, ran his hand through Ivan's hair, and Alfred could see then, in his shaking shoulders, that Ludwig was crying.

Felt so low.

Ludwig leaned over fully then, rested his head on Ivan's chest, burrowing away, and he stayed there. Didn't move. Just ran his hand up and down Ivan's shoulder, bawling away in his chest. And then Ludwig, sniveling, took Ivan's hand and removed his wedding ring, tucking it safely into his own pocket. A palm trailing down Ivan's stubbled cheek. Ludwig's hands ran restlessly over Ivan, up and down, feeling him and remembering him. Maybe, even then, Ludwig was trying to get through to Ivan somehow and let him know that he was there.

Gilbert had slept in Ludwig's hospital bed because he thought that doing so would force Ludwig to wake up, and maybe Ludwig had that same idea in his head, that if he somehow reminded Ivan he was there that Ivan would survive the surgery.

Alfred waited, but Ludwig refused to let Ivan go. Just clung to him, and it was Alfred's foot before long that began tapping.

Ludwig stayed there so long, in fact, that the doctor finally came in and had to escort Ludwig back to the door so that Ludwig wouldn't end up passing out there. Ludwig didn't protest, didn't say a word, but it was clear that he had never wanted to let Ivan go, and he lingered there for a long time in the frame, looking over his shoulder at Ivan.

That awful, final glance.

Seeing Meg the last time, as the cop car had taken Alfred away. That last glance was always the one that stuck with you, however terrible it was.

The doctor walked Ludwig along, and Alfred didn't know _why_ , but he was the one to pause then at the last second and glance over at unconscious Ivan. His eyes fell instantly upon Ivan's hand, now without a ring for the first time. The ring that, despite it all, Ivan had refused to take off. Even in the depths of insanity, even being so sick, even being out of his mind, Ivan had loved Ludwig so much that it had never once occurred to him to remove that ring.

Ivan had searched endlessly for Ludwig through the dark night, as he let himself fall apart.

Alfred's eyes were firmly on the floor as he walked out of the hospital with his tail between his legs. Gilbert and Toris had vanished, no doubt to figure out their position if Ivan survived. Alfred just dragged dazed Ludwig along, and hailed a cab. The ride home was deathly silent, as Ludwig watched the sleet battering the city.

Alfred glanced at his watch.

Ten. In eight hours, Ivan would go under the knife, and his outcome would shape Alfred's future more than his own.

Ludwig stumbled into the bedroom, pulled the chain out of the dresser, slid Ivan's wedding ring down there to rest beside his own, and Alfred felt his heart break a little when Ludwig reached up and clasped that chain once more around his neck.

Alfred stared up at the ceiling that night, not sleeping. Couldn't. The bed was far too cold; Ludwig was out in the living room, curled up on the couch, clinging to one of Ivan's shirts that he had dug out of the boxes, and crying himself senseless.

All Alfred had ever wanted was to be happy.

Just never worked out for him.

Toris and Gilbert, at least, had what they wanted. Ivan had a death sentence, even if Alfred had long refused to pull the trigger. A widower, Toris had said, and now they all stood before that word that would make it so, be it tomorrow, in five months, or five years.

Terminal.

Ludwig cried until dawn, and Ivan slept.


	26. Behind the Wall of Sleep

**Chapter 26**

**Behind the Wall of Sleep**

Morning came far too soon.

Alfred hadn't slept a single second, tossing and turning, and he sat up at the waist when the clock read four thirty.

He slunk out, where Ludwig yet lied burrowed on the couch under a blanket, face pressed into Ivan's shirt. Alfred couldn't tell if he was asleep or not, so he crept quietly into the kitchen and sat down at the table. Didn't have the stomach to eat anything, despite how long it had been, and didn't bother making coffee.

He felt so nauseous, and Ludwig surely felt the same.

The sleet had turned once more to snow, and Alfred glanced up when Ludwig trudged tiredly over and joined him at the table. Alfred stared at him, as Ludwig's puffy and bleary eyes gazed back at him.

Alfred wanted to say, 'I love you, too,' because suddenly his position seemed shaky.

Ludwig had said, not so long ago, that he loved Alfred. They had been looking at homes. Dreaming. That ring upstairs had been bought out of hope.

Where did he stand now?

Ludwig suddenly stood up, came over, and reached down to embrace Alfred around the neck, the same way he had Ivan in the police station. Alfred was the one who nearly cried then, because he just wanted everything to go back to the way it had been for that brief moment in time when they had been smiling at each other.

Ludwig murmured, thickly, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Don't hate me, please, I just— I have to do this. It's my fault that he's this way, so I have to be there for him now. He wouldn't be this way if not for me. I owe him this. Please."

Alfred squinted his eyes, embraced Ludwig in turn, and pulled Ludwig into his lap.

They sat there in misery for a long while, each no doubt feeling lost and confused and mixed up, and then far too soon Ludwig was pulling on his coat. Both weddings rings were tucked safely under his sweater, just in case Gilbert made an appearance, and Alfred trailed behind Ludwig as they made their way to the hospital.

The doctor, Kiku his name was Alfred thought, seemed far too calm for the situation, calling when he saw Ludwig, "Good morning!"

Ludwig merely gave a short jerk of his hand, and Kiku looked around to see who all was present. Just them; Gilbert and Toris were probably eagerly awaiting to hear news of Ivan's death, because that was what they had wanted all along.

In thirty minutes, it started.

Too soon.

Alfred could never have said how they had gotten here, all of them.

The doctor came up, and handed Ludwig a clipboard.

"Sign these for me, if you please."

Consent forms and the whatnot, no doubt, and Ludwig scribbled his name not on a form, but on Ivan's very life.

Thirty percent, optimistically. Not impossible, but it seemed so dismal. Kiku knew it, and clapped Ludwig's arm, saying, "I'm going to do my best. Are you going to stay here? It's going to be a long surgery. You can go back home. I'll call you."

Ludwig stubbornly shook his head, and Alfred asked, perhaps grumpily, "How long is long?"

Kiku replied, easily, "Sixteen hours. Twenty. Twenty-four. Who can say? We'll see as we go along."

Holy _shit_ , hadn't known it could be that damn long, goddammit.

Alfred cursed and grimaced, but Ludwig was very undaunted, and said, sternly, "I'll be here."

Kiku nodded, and then was gone, leaving Alfred and Ludwig to sit down on that loveseat in the waiting room and, well... _wait_.

All they could do.

Ludwig did turn to Alfred and whisper, "You can go home. You don't have to stay."

Alfred shook his head, as stubbornly as Ludwig had, and they fell silent.

The first two hours were very quiet, as Ludwig played with his wedding rings, twirling them mindlessly between his fingers as Alfred pulled out his phone and tried to distract himself.

At the third hour, Ludwig stood up and paced up and down the hall, restlessly, endlessly, hands in his hair and breathing through his mouth. Alfred watched him, back and forth, back and forth, here and there. At least for the next two hours, and then his neck started hurting, so he went for some coffee instead, putting it back like water.

Ludwig didn't sit down—just kept pacing.

In the sixth hour, Alfred made more coffee, and drank the whole pot himself again, as Ludwig continued to pace.

At the eighth hour, Alfred finally cracked. He stood up, walked over to Ludwig, grabbed him by the shoulders, and dragged him quite forcibly back into the waiting room and over to the loveseat. Didn't give Ludwig a choice, really; just pushed him down, and then sat down himself so that Ludwig would stay still. Alfred enveloped Ludwig in his arms and pulled him up against his chest, forcing his head down and trying desperately to make Ludwig sleep.

Didn't work.

Ludwig's foot tapped away, even as Alfred pinned him still.

Alfred nodded off shortly after, coming in and out of consciousness as the hours passed.

At the twelfth hour, Ludwig actually began wearing down. His foot stopped tapping. His breathing slowed. His shoulders slumped. Slowly but surely, Ludwig had worn himself out, and was falling asleep.

Alfred was grateful for that.

When Ludwig finally, mercifully, fell asleep at last, Alfred exhaled, rested his head back on the arm of the couch, closed his eyes, and was out like a light, Ludwig still held firmly in his arms.

Time was dragging, it really was. Alfred could say that that was probably the longest day of his life. So much waiting.

And always that fear as he drifted, that someone would come inside with lowered eyes.

It was cold. Unpleasant. Unfamiliar and unfriendly. As they dozed in and out, huddled up together, Alfred could feel those rings pressing uncomfortably into his chest. A constant reminder, even under the veil of sleep, that Ivan was right there and ready to reclaim his place.

Even though Alfred wasn't a bodyguard, this man still lurked there, ready to take back what Alfred loved.

Always rivals, even if Ivan wasn't going to be dangerous anymore.

The next thing Alfred knew, he was being startled from sleep by knocking, and he jumped in his seat, eyes flying open and head turning, as Ludwig jumped as well.

Took them a while to focus, dazed as they were.

The doctor was standing there at the door, knocking gently on the frame to get their attention.

Alfred glanced at the clock.

Nineteen hours.

Before he really even knew what was happening, before he had truly come back to consciousness, Ludwig had stumbled up to his feet, and Alfred could see that he was already crying. Alfred, in a fright, leapt up as well, still half-asleep and alarmed by bawling Ludwig, thinking that he had missed something. Hadn't woken up all the way, caught in the fear of the unknown.

Kiku came inside, shut the door behind him, and Alfred could see how exhausted he looked. Looked almost as awful as Ludwig did, come to think, as they stared at each other for a long second. Tired as could be, circles so dark under his red, bleary eyes, hair a little ruffled.

Ludwig wasn't breathing, as he stared at Kiku with nothing short of terror.

And then, as Alfred's heart pounded and Ludwig's face slowly crumpled, there was a minor miracle.

Kiku _smiled_.

He smiled, reached up and ran hands through his messy hair, trying to tame it, and seemed quite bolstered. His attempt at taming his hair failed, as it stuck up to high heaven instead, and Alfred was pretty sure that Kiku had about a hundred more grey hairs now than he had when he had gone into the operating room.

A look over them, and then the doctor said, in a cheery voice that didn't match his haggard appearance, "Ludwig. I have good news for you."

A crinkle of Ludwig's brow, a hitch in his breath, and Ludwig looked on the verge of imploding. His hand had come up at the level of his chest, resting subconsciously over those rings, and Alfred could see the hope there upon his face, and it was beautiful.

Alfred didn't know what _he_ wanted, what outcome was best for _him_ , but seeing Ludwig like that was enough to stir Alfred into some sort of relief himself.

Even if Alfred had it in for Ivan, seeing Ludwig light up was mesmerizing.

Kiku suddenly said, "Ivan pulled through. We've removed a good majority of the tumor. He's stable. All in all, the operation was a complete success. You have a very strong husband."

Alfred just hung his head and exhaled, hand flying up to his forehead.

Damn.

Elated, and yet also very disappointed. Alfred was selfish, after all, and Ivan slipping away on the operating table would have been best for everyone.

Except for Ludwig.

Ludwig reacted as Alfred could have expected, dissolving into tears and coming forward to lean over and embrace the doctor around the neck, blubbering away words of gratitude.

Alfred ran his hands over his face and was damn ready to go home and sleep for about three weeks straight.

Kiku smiled, patting Ludwig on the back a bit awkwardly, and said, "Go get some sleep, won't you? You look terrible. Ivan is going to be unconscious for a good few days. We're going to keep him in that coma for about a week, alright? So go rest. When he wakes up, when he recovers a little, then we can keep going."

Nowhere near out of the woods, Ivan, and he still might have only lived for five more months, but Ludwig now had a sliver of hope to look forward to. A little glimmer of light in the dark sea.

Ludwig nodded his head, clinging to the doctor rather stubbornly, and Alfred finally had to come forward and pull Ludwig back, and the doctor was shuffling a little, clearly unused to expressing emotion as much as Ludwig was.

But sleep sounded good to everyone then, given that it was one in the morning, and so Alfred grabbed Ludwig's arm and walked him down the hall.

Ludwig, barely standing, looked like death and yet was smiling. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and made a call. It was answered immediately, and Alfred could faintly hear Toris' voice.

Toris awaited news of Ivan's death, and instead Ludwig breathlessly said, voice thin and high and so _happy_ , "He made it!"

Silence.

Toris uttered something curt and short, and then hung up.

Alfred imagined that Toris had grunted, sarcastically, 'Oh. _Great_.'

Ludwig seemed hardly bothered, clinging to Alfred's arm as tightly as he had clung to the doctor and appearing quite in the clouds. It had been so long since Alfred had seen Ludwig light up like that, and he tried to enjoy it, even if he wasn't the cause for it.

Alfred couldn't really find much optimism, even for Ludwig's sake.

Alfred just didn't have to heart to remind Ludwig that Ivan may have survived this surgery, but that he was still going to die soon, regardless.

Unfair.

They made it home in that daze, and this time even the snow in Ludwig's pale hair couldn't drag Alfred up out of that dark pit he had fallen into.

Ludwig, bolstered, made dinner, Alfred ate for the first time in who knew how long, they still didn't make conversation, and then they went to bed. This time, Ludwig lied next to Alfred, arm thrown over Alfred's chest and face buried in his neck. As usual, Alfred stared blankly at the ceiling, and didn't sleep.

Morning came.

Exhaustion hung over Alfred far more heavily than any noose ever could.

Ludwig rolled over halfway on top of Alfred, kissed his nose as he had not too long ago, and for just a while there Alfred was content, reaching up to pull Ludwig in and kiss him.

That feeling, after so much darkness. Nothing like it.

A little bit of comfort.

But then Ludwig pulled back, kissed Alfred's nose again, and murmured, eagerly, "Will you come with me to the hospital today?"

A surge of disappointment.

Alfred tried to hide it, tried to appear unbothered, casual, content, because Ludwig was smiling for the first time in so long. He only kept up the act because Ludwig was lying on top of him, and he was yet the one in this bed.

"He's still asleep," Alfred tried.

Ludwig's pale eyes ran over his face, and he replied, "I know. But Gilbert stayed with me. I should stay with him. Just in case." Alfred's mask might have slipped for a second, because Ludwig's brow suddenly came down, and he buried his face in Alfred's neck. "I'm sorry. You were... All this time, you've been so patient with me. Can't you do that again, one more time?"

Alfred stared blankly above Ludwig's head, and was silent.

He desperately wanted to ask, 'If he makes it now and lives those five years, will you go back to him?'

He didn't, because he was afraid of Ludwig's answer.

So Alfred tried to redirect Ludwig's sentiments, and said, very pointedly, "You asked me over and over again to stay. I promised you I would. I'll be here, whatever happens."

Ludwig was quiet, as Alfred intentionally used his own words against him, making sure that Ludwig remembered that he was Alfred's now, not Ivan's, even if Ivan woke up from this coma a different man. It had come too far, and there was no going back down that dead-end road.

Terminal.

That word always lurked beneath the surface, however hard Ludwig tried to ignore it.

Alfred dutifully followed Ludwig to the hospital all the same, and stood back in the corner as Ludwig took over that room like a mother hen.

Ludwig rearranged the chairs in the room in the manner he saw fit, raised the blinds just a crack to let pale winter sunlight in even though the view from the fourth floor window made him totter, and then Ludwig turned his sights to Ivan. Alfred couldn't really say if Ludwig was doing this more for Ivan or himself, if Ludwig just needed something to cling to, but regardless of intent Ludwig went over to unconscious Ivan and began tidying him up.

Ivan was no longer on a respirator, and so Ludwig hovered over him, put a towel upon his chest, and gave Ivan a desperately needed shave. The care and amount of effort Ludwig put into it was very easy to see in his focused eyes, and sometimes Ludwig was _so_ focused that his tongue would poke out a little.

Despite it all, that made Alfred smile a little.

Ivan's head was too wrapped up for Ludwig to get in there and trim his hair, whatever hadn't been shaved at any rate, so instead Ludwig fiddled around with other things, here and there. He picked up one of Ivan's great hands, and clipped his nails, cleaned them, as if he were some beautician.

Ludwig preened Ivan then as lovingly as any mother would their child, and Alfred had a hard time lifting his eyes up from the floor.

Couldn't say what was going on in Ludwig's head. He was a wreck in so many ways, and handled it in whatever manner seemed best to him. Preening Ivan like that might have just been an illusion, because if Ivan looked less messy then perhaps Ludwig could more easily pretend that he wasn't sick.

Ivan did look a lot better, Alfred had to say, when Ludwig was done with him.

Ludwig then sat down in a chair, held Ivan's hand, and stared at him for hours. From the intent look on his face, Alfred imagined that Ludwig was holding a telepathic conversation with Ivan, trying so hard to let Ivan know he was there.

When night fell, Ludwig finally pitied weary Alfred, and they went home.

The next day was the same, except that Ludwig took the car to the hospital, because he stopped on the way to buy an exorbitant amount of flowers. Alfred pursed his lips and felt again like a ridiculous pack mule as he helped Ludwig carry all those damn flowers and vases up to that room. Ludwig bustled about, setting the flowers all over, and the room certainly did look much cheerier and less terrifying when Ludwig was done with it.

Alfred knew _why_ Ludwig did it, but it didn't hurt any less.

Ludwig was trying so hard to spur sleeping Ivan into fighting on as he always had, but Alfred looked around at the bright red flowers and just felt more like the room was on fire.

Or maybe that was his head, because it was as much a wreck as Ludwig's ever had been.

Once more, when Ludwig was finished he sat down, took Ivan's hand, and stared at him for hours.

The next day...

Well. Started off the same, this time with Ludwig bringing a blanket from home to put it over Ivan, so that maybe Ivan would have some greater sense of comfort in that coma, but when Ludwig sat down to grab Ivan's hand, something went a little wrong.

Out of nowhere, a sudden inhale, sharp and labored, and Ludwig's head snapped up and he stared away at Ivan with wide eyes as Ivan suddenly groaned and stirred. Alfred came forward in alarm, because he was certain that the doctor had said that Ivan shouldn't have been waking up for a good while. No one had said that Ivan was going to be brought out of the coma, so this probably wasn't good.

Ivan's hands twitched at his sides, tied to the railing as they were, and Ludwig stood up to frantically press the button to call the nurse.

Ludwig looked already like he was about to burst into tears, as he hunkered down and clenched Ivan's hand tightly between both of his own, leaning down to whisper away in Ivan's ear.

Hurt to see Ludwig caring so much, so much, for someone else, and more than that for someone that had hurt him, and maybe Alfred hated it so much because now he couldn't even hate Ivan, couldn't even hold the son of a bitch accountable anymore.

Ludwig had been right all along, after all.

That hurt was quickly lost under anxiety when Ivan suddenly sucked in a great breath of air through his teeth, and then began breathing erratically, sharply, unevenly, his face now twitching along with his hands.

Waking up—why was he waking up?

It was very easy to see that Ivan was in an unbearable amount of pain in that moment, must have been in unfathomable pain, and Ludwig's face had crumpled up like a piece of paper when Ivan's squinted eyes opened just a crack. Hissing, gasping, and Ivan sounded like he was _crying_ then, as he tried to lift his hand up to his head. Couldn't, for his binds, and Ludwig reached his hands up, embracing Ivan around the chest carefully.

Wasn't even conscious, Ivan, wasn't really awake, not really, certainly not lucid, and yet it was obvious that he was in intense agony. Ivan was in a chemical coma, and so he must not have been on any painkillers yet, those wouldn't have been administered until it was time to wake Ivan up, and Alfred didn't really want to imagine what it felt like to come to after major brain surgery with no pain medication.

Unfathomable.

Ludwig held Ivan, so carefully, and Ivan had turned his head in Ludwig's direction. Wondered if at some level Ivan knew that Ludwig was there, despite not being really conscious. Maybe there had been a point after all in all of Ludwig's efforts, because even behind the sleep Ivan surely felt Ludwig's presence.

The nurse suddenly came rushing in, the doctor trotting on her heels, and after a moment to see what was happening, Kiku had taken up the IV in his hands and plunged a syringe into it. He turned his dark eyes to Ivan, tutting, lowly, "Ivan! What are you doing awake? I thought I had enough drugs in you to knock out a rhino."

Ludwig clung to Ivan protectively, and in a minute or so, the new drug took effect and Ivan slipped mercifully back into unconsciousness. What a relief.

The doctor furrowed his brow and pushed out his lips, clearly curious as to how Ivan had ever come to in the first place.

Alfred wasn't too shocked; he had seen what Ivan could do.

Kiku watched Ivan for a long time, gave him a look over and checked all of his vitals, and then he clapped Ludwig's arm for encouragement and walked off.

Ludwig didn't leave that night, stayed there beside Ivan, sleeping in the chair with his head rested on the mattress, and cranky Alfred reclined in the other chair and tried to remember why he was doing this.

He wanted Ludwig, and so he had to stay, had to be supportive. No one else was, and Ludwig would remember that. When it was all over and done with, when Ivan was better (that was, as good as he was going to get), Alfred could look over at Ludwig and know that Ludwig would stay with _him_ , because Alfred had been there for him when no one else in his life had helped.

Alfred was selfish, and good at being so.

The next day, Gilbert finally came to the hospital, hunting down his little brother like a hound.

Alfred was out of sorts, staring tiredly out of the window as the sun rose. Ludwig was a mess, hadn't slept all night, so worried about Ivan, and looked about as bad then as Ivan had when they had dragged him into this hospital.

When the door opened, Alfred looked over, assuming it was Kiku.

It wasn't.

When Gilbert came inside, dressed in that ridiculously expensive suit and looking so out of place, Ludwig glanced up, saw him, and leapt to his feet. A step forward, and it was clear to Alfred that Ludwig wanted to hug Gilbert, wanted to embrace him, wanted to be near him, because Ludwig had worshiped Gilbert his entire life and Gilbert not supporting him had crushed him. Gilbert not changing his mind about Ivan had been devastating, and maybe exhausted Ludwig thought that Gilbert was there as a sign of peace.

It was only because Ludwig hadn't slept in days and was an emotional wreck that he actually had the courage to complete the act and come up to Gilbert, throwing arms around his neck and pressing his face into Gilbert's shoulder.

A breath away from a breakdown.

Alfred knew better than to expect a peace offering from Gilbert, and just watched as Ludwig burrowed away into Gilbert's neck.

How strange it must have been for Ludwig to actually hug Gilbert. Had they ever hugged since Ludwig had turned six and been put to work? Did Gilbert know _how_ to hug someone?

Alfred spied Toris in the doorframe, and felt rather uneasy.

Why were they really here? Not to check in on Ivan.

Gilbert stood stark still, as much a statue as ever, and he didn't lift his arms to embrace his vulnerable little brother. Rather, Gilbert stared blankly at Ivan, unconscious there, and then he turned his head to Alfred, and said, "I wish to speak to you outside. Now."

Ludwig lifted his head, inhaling and eyes bleary, and said, thoughtlessly, "Of course—"

"Not you," Gilbert said, coldly and stiffly, as he took a purposeful step back and disengaged himself from Ludwig's embrace.

Alfred hated the falling of Ludwig's face, but Ludwig accepted it as he did everything, and stared at Gilbert longingly for a moment before he retreated and went once more to Ivan's side. When Ludwig bent forward, folded his arms, and buried his face there beside Ivan's, Alfred turned away.

He followed Gilbert out into the hallway, and then down the corridor towards a waiting room. When the door shut behind them, Alfred found himself alone with Gilbert and Toris, and felt a little like a mouse beneath the paws of two cats.

Gilbert studied Alfred, making him shift, and yet it was Toris who spoke first, by droning in his ever-condescending voice, "You're not a rocket scientist, but I trust you grasp how problematic this is, on many levels."

"I got that, thanks," Alfred spat back, bitterly, and aggressively.

Who were they telling, the sons of bitches? They weren't the ones that stood to lose someone they were romantically in love with because some big bastard had gotten sick—

Goddammit.

It had always been obvious that Gilbert didn't consider anything happening now to be absolution for Ivan, not even a little, and it was clear that Toris felt that way, too.

They stared Alfred down, and Gilbert spoke up, to rumble, "I've been consulting with every lawyer in the city. None of them are telling me what I want to hear."

Ha—must have been pitching a fit at home, the asshole, at not getting his way.

Alfred slumped a little, in exhaustion, and barely managed a scoff. He looked back and forth between Gilbert and Toris, and then whispered, wearily, "What's it matter? He's dyin'. What's it even matter? You got what you wanted."

Toris curled his lip, and muttered, "What _I_ want is to have him die in prison. That's what _I_ want."

A twinge of anger, but Alfred could never have explained why.

Toris noticed it, no doubt, and lowered his voice ever more to ask, "The man who killed your sister— If they called you today and told you that he was being released because he had a brain tumor and now suddenly it wasn't his fault, would you forgive him?"

An awful pang of hurt, and Alfred couldn't answer that and swallowed instead.

Because _no_. He wouldn't have. It wouldn't have changed anything in Alfred's mind, not at all, and so he couldn't open his mouth. Toris knew it, and Alfred didn't really want to side with Toris and Gilbert any more than he wanted to side with Ivan, but this was one of those times that they just made more sense to Alfred than Ludwig and Ivan did.

It wasn't right, maybe, wasn't fair, because Ivan really was sick, but Alfred didn't forgive him any more than Gilbert did.

Gilbert had slept on Ludwig's hospital bed for three days, clinging to the hope that his little brother would wake up, and Ivan being sick didn't make that dread and hurt and betrayal any better. Nothing would, and Gilbert had every right to want Ivan put away, however long he had left to live.

So Alfred stood still, and stayed silent.

Gilbert took a step towards Alfred, and lowered his voice into that dangerous, soft tone.

"I don't like you, let me say that now. I find you as interesting and meaningful as a rock. You have no place in this company, in this line. I think you're nothing, nothing, and should you one day vanish the world would never even know you once existed."

A surge of red to his face, his fists clenched, nostrils flaring in anger, and Toris as usual kept watch of the situation, eyes ever darting between them to keep charge of tempers.

Before Alfred could retort, Gilbert carried on, "You are nothing, but between nothing and that fucking _thing_ lying in there on that bed, if _those_ are really my choices, then nothing it is."

A sudden motion, Alfred braced defensively, and Gilbert had snatched out, taken the collar of Alfred's coat in one big hand, and hauled him in until they were nearly nose to nose.

Alfred was pinned down under Gilbert's eyes, immobile and unable to breathe.

Gilbert's deadly whisper of absolute finality.

"Whatever happens, don't you _dare_ let Ludwig go back to him. Whatever you have to do. I don't _care_ if he's dying—five years is still five years too many. Use whatever means you need to, but Ludwig is under no circumstances to leave you and go back to him. Understand? That's all."

Gilbert let him go, lifted his chin, and stalked out of the hospital, Toris following crankily behind him.

Alfred stood there in the waiting room long after Gilbert and Toris had vanished, staring at the wall and jaw clenched.

Couldn't describe the way he felt.

Pfft—yeah, great, he had finally gotten Gilbert's blessing to enter this sacred line, something he had desired, and now that he had it, it suddenly felt so sinister. Like everything else in Ludwig's life, Gilbert was extending something to Ludwig only to get what _Gilbert_ wanted. Gilbert, as always, wanted to be entirely in control of Ludwig. And this time, even thought Gilbert's means of control aligned with Alfred's desires, it just...

Didn't feel right.

Alfred wanted Ludwig, more than anything, and was absolutely willing to fight for him, but Ludwig, for once in his life, should have been able to make his own decision. Alfred wanted to fight, wanted Ludwig to choose him, but he wanted Ludwig to choose him because he had won Ludwig over fairly. Didn't want Ludwig to choose Alfred because Gilbert and Toris gave him no other option. Didn't want Ludwig to choose Alfred because he was terrified that not doing so would mean he and a sick Ivan were out on the street.

Didn't Gilbert realize that he was giving Alfred an impossible task? There was no force in the universe that could have kept Ludwig from Ivan, and Alfred was just a man.

He would try his best, all the same, but his hopes were low.

Alfred pushed open the door and went back into Ivan's room, and felt that awful wave of hurt come back up.

Ludwig had crawled into the cramped bed, always mimicking Gilbert in one form or another, and had buried his face in Ivan's neck, arm thrown over Ivan's chest protectively. Ludwig wasn't shielding Ivan from Alfred anymore, but rather the world entire.

Maybe it was Ludwig who would have made an impressive bodyguard.

Every person around them pulled Ludwig's strings; Alfred had once thought that.

And now he was just one of them yet again, a little puppet dancing for Gilbert.

Ivan slept.

But not for long.


	27. Forget-Me-Not

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N : Just wanna pop in and give a big THANK YOU to you guys, for always hanging in there with me. I really appreciate it.

**Chapter 27**

**Forget-Me-Not**

Six days after the operation, the doctor finally determined the time was right to wake Ivan up.

Everyone had been so out in space, so lost, that neither of them had been entirely aware that Christmas had come and gone. It had been the day Gilbert had come to drag Alfred into his ranks, in fact, and Alfred had realized it later. What could he say to Ludwig? 'Merry Christmas! Your gift is that your brother is finally going to let me in the family. But the catch is you have to watch your husband die and can't be near him.'

As bad as it was, Alfred wished that he was back in time with Gilbert sliding him a gun. Things had been much less confusing back then.

Now, two days later, there was a call.

Alfred had been lying in bed despondently that morning when Ludwig's phone started ringing before the sun had risen. Ludwig was on it in a second, rolling over right on top of Alfred in order to grab it up. Instinctively, Alfred embraced Ludwig around the waist to keep him from toppling right off of the bed, as Ludwig put it to his ear and breathed, huskily, "Hello?"

Alfred just stared up at Ludwig with a bit of alarm, as every possible emotion seemed to flit over Ludwig's face. Alfred clung to him, tightly, and it was sad in some way because he missed having Ludwig like this in his arms.

Everything had fallen apart.

After a minute, Ludwig rumbled, "I'll be there immediately. Thank you."

Ludwig cut the call, looked anxious and yet elated, and he suddenly turned his eyes down to Alfred, smiled, pressed forward, and kissed him upon the forehead.

"The doctor is going to bring Ivan out of the coma today."

...yeah. Great.

Alfred opened his arms up and let Ludwig go without a word, Ludwig was bustling about to get dressed, and Alfred pulled himself upright, swung his legs over, and stared away at the wall.

How had he ever gotten into this mess?

It was a stark contrast, Ludwig's utterly hectic and excited motions, as Alfred sat there lethargic and dazed and numb on the edge of the bed. Alfred had brought Ludwig back into life, back from that dark, and now Ludwig was in the light as Alfred started sinking.

The problem was that Ludwig could only see Ivan now, and didn't notice Alfred's head beneath the waves.

Ludwig stalked back and forth, out of sorts, too jittery to really focus. He pulled on a shirt, buttoned it up crookedly, pulled on pants but forgot his belt, his socks didn't match, and when he darted frantically to the bedroom door to god knew where, his pants started slipping down and he tripped over them, slamming forehead first into the door.

Alfred rolled his eyes, stood up, and went over to Ludwig, who was cursing and wriggling back into his pants. Alfred grabbed a belt from the dresser, and tossed it over. Ludwig smiled over at him, breathlessly, and it would have been pretty if Alfred hadn't felt so sick.

Ludwig was acting like a little kid whose mother had just told him they were going to go get a puppy, had that same elated air about him, and Alfred tried damn hard to not let it get the better of him.

Ludwig had every right to be this way.

Alfred had seen Ludwig light up, sure, had seen him playful and happy and silly, but he couldn't say that he had ever seen Ludwig like this. Seemed that there was an entire spectrum of emotions and moods that only Ivan could ever really get out of Ludwig, and Alfred supposed that it would always be that way until Ivan was gone. Ludwig couldn't really divide his love equally, and Alfred was starting to realize that there wasn't anything he could do that would ever make Ludwig stop glancing at Ivan.

Gilbert's task seemed harder and harder every day.

Whatever means, Gilbert had said. What, did he expect Alfred to just grab Ludwig's wrist, give him a slap, sit him down, and say, 'You're not going to the hospital again'? Was that what he wanted? In hindsight, Alfred figured it actually was.

Wasn't gonna happen.

Alfred could have dominated Ludwig, could have used his strength to prevent Ludwig from leaving this house, but then he was really just becoming everything he had tried hard to protect Ludwig from, and that wasn't who Alfred ever wanted to be.

Maybe he should have guilted Ludwig into staying. Say, outright, that Ludwig had given himself over to Alfred, and that he had Ivan were no longer a couple, despite the lack of Ivan's signature on those papers. Reminded Ludwig that Ludwig had committed to Alfred, had said those words, and therefore Alfred had the right to demand he stay here.

Alfred had the right to tell Ludwig he couldn't go to the hospital.

But he didn't, because he was terrified of Ludwig hating him.

Whatever means.

Alfred glanced, subconsciously, towards the upstairs bedroom, but shook it quickly off. That ring wasn't coming out, not now, even though doing so would have been the power play he really needed to do as Gilbert told him and keep control of Ludwig. Ludwig couldn't have said 'no', and Alfred would be secure, but, oh man...

He couldn't stand thinking about how Ludwig would have cried when he was alone. That awful, fake smile as Ludwig once more burnt out.

This really was an impossible task, and Alfred kept his eyes low as he followed bouncing Ludwig to the hospital.

Kiku was smiling when he saw Ludwig coming, and was quick to reach out, place his hand on Ludwig's back, and lead him along cheerily. Kiku and Ludwig seemed to have developed a rather odd sort of camaraderie, as they both cared immensely for the same man. Kiku's hair was neat today, combed and parted, dark mottled with grey, and he was dressed nicely, too, the tie visible under his coat.

As if Kiku were almost as excited as Ludwig was, somehow, and Alfred was the cranky stick-in-the-mud, trailing behind them gloomily.

Kiku liked Ludwig, but didn't seem to care for Alfred, and Alfred wondered if it was because Kiku was a little offended that Ludwig's 'bodyguard' was still lurking about, when Kiku had worked damn hard to crawl into Ivan's brain and rewire him. Perhaps Alfred's presence was an unintentional insult to his very work itself.

Alfred could hear them speaking gently to each other.

"Are you excited?"

"I'm nervous," Ludwig replied, and it was true because Alfred could see his hands shaking.

"That's normal. Let's just hope for the best. Anyway, a man who could survive odds like that has to be lucky, right? It'll be alright. Everything from here on is smooth sailing."

Yeah, right! Smooth, his ass. This was the very definition of rough seas.

Not knowing, in the end, who Ludwig would choose to stand by when everything was said and done.

Oh, god, it was the worst thought he had ever had, the most selfish, the most terrible, the most cruel, but god help him if the worst part of Alfred didn't kinda hope, deep down, that Ivan would just go quietly and soon.

He was already an awful person, and tried to push that thought away, tried to pretend that he didn't really mean it, but it always lingered there.

He wanted Ludwig, so badly, and if Ivan responded to the treatment and miraculously pulled through, then Alfred was done for. Didn't stand a chance at all if Ivan somehow survived this ordeal. And even if Ivan only did make it another five years, then Ludwig would be at his side those five years and Alfred would be on the backburner, forced to wait until a better man died so that he could have the sad remains.

Christ.

If Alfred couldn't summon up the will to obey Gilbert, to be forceful, to be stern and unbending, then he would lose Ludwig.

Kiku was murmuring away to Ludwig, spurring him on, and Alfred was steadily realizing that Kiku was acting that way because Kiku was Ivan's doctor, and knew well this case. Kiku knew of the pending divorce, of everything Ivan had done. Kiku knew everything, except the one major important detail that now played a huge factor :

Alfred and Ludwig were together.

Kiku didn't know _that_ , and was acting in a manner that suggested he was extremely confident in Ivan's sudden personality change. Kiku, the little jerk, seemed to enjoy the thought of Ludwig falling back into Ivan's arms. Naturally, Kiku would want anything that helped Ivan, because Kiku had a duty to Ivan as his doctor to do everything possible to help him pull through, and even dumb Alfred knew that Ludwig was imperative to Ivan's survival.

Alfred glanced up at Kiku, and wished he had been brave enough to pull him aside and say, 'Hey, that's my boyfriend you're trying to set up. Knock it off.'

He didn't gather the courage, and stayed silent.

Alfred had been loud and assertive and aggressive throughout his entire life, and now, when he most needed that, he stayed quiet. Stayed quiet, because he had always felt that everything he did was in the right, but this time that wasn't so clear for him to see.

...was _he_ the bad guy here? He wasn't.

Ivan was still the bad guy.

Alfred glanced up, as Kiku smiled and leaned into Ludwig's side, whispering away.

That dread in his chest was always rising.

When they walked into the room, the first thing Kiku did was to get Ludwig's attention, and say, firmly, "First! Let's go over what you should expect."

Ludwig nodded, bravely as always, and seemed so determined. Ready.

"He's probably going to have a great deal of memory loss. His motor skills may be impeded. He'll probably be confused. He might say or do strange things. He's going to be a little loopy, as you can imagine, after nineteen hours of someone poking around in his brain. So just be ready for that, alright? That aside, I would prefer if we keep all conversation very light. On the chance he is a little lucid, I would rather have him with as little stress as possible for now. Let's not talk about the diagnosis, nor any pending legal activities. Deal?"

Ludwig nodded obediently, hands shaking nervously.

"Today probably won't be so great, but come tomorrow he should be far more aware. I imagine tomorrow is when we'll sit down with him and explain to him what's going on. For now, for today, just take it easy, alright?"

Ludwig nodded again, and Kiku turned his eyes to Alfred, gaze once more uninterested.

Felt as if the world had just sank under the waves, but Alfred finally exhaled and nodded in agreement.

That was that.

Ludwig sat down, grabbed Ivan's big hand, and Kiku began fiddling around, saying, so easily, "I can't say how long it will take him to wake up. But I imagine within the next few hours."

Ludwig hunkered down, leaned forward to rest his elbows on the bed, gripping Ivan's hand then between both of his own, and it was very easy to see that he was ready to settle down for the long haul. Kiku could have said, 'He'll wake up anywhere from tomorrow to the next eight years', and Ludwig would have dutifully sat there every damn day to wait regardless.

Alfred had promised to stand by Ludwig, whatever happened, but Ludwig had promised Ivan, many years ago, to love and honor him, in sickness and in health, and that promise was being fulfilled in some way then.

Ivan had promised Ludwig many things, too, no doubt, and Ludwig waited eagerly now to see how many of them Ivan planned on keeping.

Alfred's eyes kept falling to Ludwig's neck, and he couldn't put into words how much that really hurt, knowing now that two rings rested there on that chain hidden beneath Ludwig's sweater.

Kiku finished up, leaned down over Ludwig and whispered something in his ear, Ludwig smiled, and Alfred might have glared at Kiku a little when he took his leave.

Jerk.

Time passed, far too slowly, and Alfred sat in the chair in the corner, crossed one leg over the over, crossed his arms over his chest, and stared irritably at the white wall.

Hated the smell of this place.

He tried to zone out, as Ludwig sometimes rested his chin on the bed next to Ivan's head, clearly whispering to him. Tried to go somewhere else, to a different place that wasn't as painful, but that backfired on him far too much because his overactive imagination got the better of him.

He just saw Ludwig and Ivan, as they perhaps once had been.

Knowing now how sick Ivan really was changed so much of what Alfred had had in his head during Ludwig's many stories. He still didn't know Ivan, had never met the real one, and so he envisioned what could have been.

It was stupid, but no matter how hard Alfred tried to shake it, he just kept seeing what might have been if Ivan had never gotten sick :

That house, a marital home, warm and loving, Ivan playing the piano as snow fell outside and Ludwig curled up on the couch, watching him fondly. Ludwig cooking, and Ivan instead of Alfred coming up behind him to kiss his neck and irritate him. Perhaps, even...

Once, Ludwig had said that Ivan had been very willing to adopt a potential heir to Gilbert's legacy, and that was the worst image he had of the lot.

Ivan and Ludwig making a quaint little family, as family-man Ivan no doubt had always wanted. Adopting. Some little kid somewhere that had no one else, maybe a kid like Alfred that hadn't fallen through the cracks and had been taken away, having his first normal Christmas. Ludwig doting and mending clothes as Ivan roughhoused and made stupid little paper satellites or whatever the fuck he made, making some kid smile when no one else ever had. Ludwig and that kid smiling widely as they mischievously leapt upon Ivan's back during a pushup. Huge Ivan scooping both of them up in either arm to show off as he carted them about the house while chattering. Parents. Ivan, fearless and protective. Ludwig, caring and clever. Maybe it would have been those two, at long last, that broke the circle, that ended the abuse. Maybe that kid that they would have chosen would have been the first of that sacred line to grow up happy.

Hurt.

It was pointless to think of what could have been.

Here they were now, and Ivan was never going to live out his domestic dream, so why bother pondering over it? Even if Ivan woke up now and was suddenly back to normal, if he suddenly became a 'good man' once more, then so what? He still wouldn't have that dream, because too much had been done, and even if somehow Ludwig and Ivan reunited, right now, it didn't matter because Ivan was still going to _die_.

Alfred was making himself sick, and tried hard to shake it free of his mind.

Dreams died and withered away every damn day, because the world was a cruel place, and this was just one more broken illusion. Very few people got that elusive happy ending, and Ivan was another person whose fairytale had taken a wrong turn.

An hour or so later, Toris came slinking inside the room, carrying a small briefcase and dressed very neatly. Ready for business from the look of him, hair perfectly tied back, neatly shaved, and Ludwig lit up when he saw him. Ludwig sat up, smiling away, and was quick to breathe, "Toris! I didn't think you would come."

Alfred was highly suspicious, naturally, as his eyes fell to the briefcase at Toris' side.

What the hell was this creep up to?

Toris smirked, set the briefcase down, crossing his arms as he leaned up against the wall, and drawled, "You have such little faith in me. Wouldn't miss it for the world."

Ludwig beamed, but Alfred could see that his eyes were flitting over to the door very frequently, and Alfred knew that Ludwig was hoping Gilbert would come walking in.

Never did.

Ludwig loved Gilbert, admired him, worshipped him, and Gilbert never came.

Alfred stared away at that briefcase, stared and stared, as Ludwig turned his attention back to Ivan, and then Toris met Alfred's eyes. Alfred, caught under that gaze, suddenly inhaled, heart racing and feeling a strange mix of fury and elation.

Somehow, someway, Alfred knew what was in that briefcase :

The divorce papers.

Toris wasn't here to be supportive, naturally, but Ludwig wasn't in a good enough emotional state to realize that. Toris was here to assess the situation, to see how Ivan would act upon waking. To see if he was still violent, and then, if he wasn't, to somehow get him to sign those papers when Ludwig wasn't looking. Ivan being out in space would make him pliable, and a confused Ivan was one who Toris could convince to sign anything.

Over Ludwig's dead body.

Ludwig was smiling still, so happy that Toris was there even if Gilbert wasn't, and Alfred finally broke away from Toris' piercing gaze and looked away. Alfred was _glad_ that Ludwig didn't know that Toris was there to moderate, to change opinions, to sway Ludwig to Alfred, to keep Ludwig from falling once more into Ivan's ever-waiting arms. Toris was there as support, alright, but for Alfred in the end, because Toris had his own motivations.

Alfred knew it, and stayed silent, because Toris' subtle and careful manipulations in the end would serve Alfred well.

...damn, he felt like shit.

He wasn't the bad guy here, he wasn't, so why did he feel so mixed up?

As they waited for Ivan to come around, Toris played on his phone, likely keeping Gilbert up to speed on everything, as Alfred scuffed his boot on the floor and repeatedly reminded himself that he was not, in fact, the bad guy.

Why he had to repeat it so many times, he couldn't say.

The morning sun was bright and pale in the white sky when there was the first stir.

Nine in the morning. Alfred had come back shortly before with coffee.

An inhale.

Ludwig's head snapped up, he reached out like lightning to grab Ivan's hand, abandoning his coffee in a blink, and Alfred felt that familiar pang of hurt when Ludwig leaned forward breathlessly, eyes only for Ivan as he stared away at him.

A moment of shifting, inhaling, noises of discomfort, and then, for the first time, Ivan opened his eyes. Barely.

A long stare up at the ceiling behind very squinted eyes.

Alfred went over and closed the blinds then, out of courtesy if nothing else, and after a long minute of shifting, Ivan's squinted eyes opened just a bit more. Heavier breathing, grunting, as Ivan shifted restlessly.

Ludwig waited, never once removing his gaze from Ivan, eyes as focused as a hunting cat.

Ivan suddenly tugged his wrists, unable to move them for the ties that yet held him to the bed, and there was a very low mutter in Russian. Toris stared away at Ivan, face very uninterested, and Alfred settled down, because it was becoming clear that Ivan wasn't really awake.

Ludwig knew it, too, and gave a clipped sigh.

Ivan just restlessly tugged his wrists, blabbering away softly in Russian and not once ever seeming to become lucid. Didn't recognize anyone around him, was nowhere near alert, and Ludwig lowered his eyes in disappointment as delirious Ivan murmured away and shifted jerkily about.

Several minutes later, Ivan went back to sleep.

More waiting.

The second time Ivan woke up, around noon, was another no-go.

Ivan just bolted up very abruptly at the waist with an inhale, startling Ludwig so much that he nearly toppled backwards, and looked around the room as he once more uttered low words in Russian, this time mixed with English. Ivan's eyes were very wide, very confused, head twisting this way and that as he made up his own words and strung together entirely incoherent sentences. Ivan sputtered utter nonsense then, as Ludwig gawked at him.

Ludwig, patient as a saint, held Ivan's hand and gave efforts to hold conversation, even if Ivan didn't make a damn bit of sense.

Alfred did snort a few times, despite how awful he felt, because, hell...

Sometimes, it was kinda funny.

At one point, Alfred swore that Ivan had urgently rambled something about the space shuttle losing its beach ball, which naturally would have concerned anyone. Very vital to space exploration, the beach ball.

Another time, Ludwig shook Ivan's hand, whispered, "Hey, look over here, it's alright."

Ivan snapped his head over, eyes still so wide and dazed, and Ivan uttered, very seriously, "I think I'm on fire. Can I have some ice cream cream? For my head-shoe?"

Even stern, scared Ludwig cracked a smile at that one, hanging his head and laughing. Ludwig shook his head, sighed, and gave Ivan's hand another good jostle.

Toris, naturally, was not amused, and Ivan lied back down shortly after and slipped back into unconsciousness.

Ludwig snickered to himself long after Ivan had fallen back asleep, and sometimes Alfred felt himself smiling.

...maybe Alfred should go buy the poor bastard some ice cream cream. For his head-shoe. Pick up a beach ball on the way, to save the space shuttle.

Alfred shook his head, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and snorted. It was nice to laugh a little, in the middle of this suffocating stress.

Everyone was exhausted.

Good too quickly, though, and misery easily mounted once more, as Ludwig sat there and ever waited for Ivan to come around.

The sun was lowering when Ivan woke up one more time.

Another groan, another inhale, but this time Ivan didn't bolt upright or open his eyes immediately. He squirmed a little, wincing, and somehow Alfred sensed that this time would be different. Just the way Ivan was moving then. Ludwig seemed to sense it, too, because he was holding his breath, sitting halfway out of his chair and clinging to Ivan's hand so tightly that his knuckles were white.

Toris focused.

At last, Ivan had gathered up enough strength to open his eyes all the way and begin looking around, glancing first around the room. He lifted his head, just a bit, and then his pale eyes raked over Toris with scrutiny, before Ivan suddenly turned that piercing gaze to Alfred.

That time, it was clear that Ivan was lucid. Awake. Aware. Alert.

Third time was the charm, apparently.

Ivan's grey eyes easily held Alfred in place. Like staring right at a tiger. Intense. Prying. Hypnotic. Alfred could say, perhaps, that this was his very first time actually looking into Ivan's eyes, under the assumption that the other times had been someone else.

Ivan held his gaze for a long minute, and then, finally, looked up at Ludwig.

Instantly, that intense gaze seemed to soften, seemed to change, and Alfred was painfully aware of it. At the sight of Ludwig, the crinkle in Ivan's brow lessened, a bit, and everything in his face seemed much less pained, seemed calmer, seemed more peaceful. Seeing Ludwig seemed to alleviate Ivan's pain, and that was extremely distasteful, because, really, it was pretty beautiful.

Ivan's eyes ran over Ludwig's face with the breathless scrutiny of a man looking up at the Sistine Chapel for the first time.

Damn.

Ivan didn't wake up and become aggressive. Wasn't violent. Didn't look angry or agitated. Didn't look upset at all. Just looked like he was in a great deal of agony.

Alfred had been prepared for Ivan waking up, had been ready for him to start ranting and raving again, had been waiting for him to flip his lid, had been waiting for him to pitch a fit and start breaking things as he had before. Honestly, maybe Alfred had _wanted_ that to happen, because that would have meant that Ludwig had been wrong, that it wasn't the tumor that had been making Ivan crazy. Maybe Alfred wanted it to just be Ivan. Wanted Ivan to just be that way, because that would mean that there was no chance for Ivan to win Ludwig over again.

But Ivan just smiled up at Ludwig, rather softly, eyes flitting over Ludwig's face, as Ludwig smiled so beautifully back and continued clenching Ivan's hand. Ivan's lips parted as if to speak, but he instead lowered his gaze down and saw his hand there within Ludwig's. A long stare, and then Ivan glanced back up, and Alfred could never have fully understood that look on Ivan's face.

It may have been awe.

Alfred hung back, and watched.

The doctor had demanded a stress-free environment, and so Alfred bit down that jealousy and stayed still.

At last, Ivan opened his mouth, and spoke.

A weak, rough whisper.

" _Ya v gospital?"_

Russian again? Alfred nearly rolled his eyes, as Ivan came around and tried to figure out what was going on. His voice was soft, gentle, pretty, as it had been in the station. Alfred detested how pretty Ivan's voice was when he spoke normally, when he wasn't screaming. Easy on the ears. A captivating, entrancing voice, for sure, far more handsome than Ivan himself.

Agitation.

Toris was staring holes through Ivan, and seemed to be calculating as always, analyzing. Assessing the situation.

As Ludwig stared, Toris lifted his voice and said, softly, " _Da. Uspokoisya._ You'll have to speak in English so everyone can understand you."

Toris only spoke then at last because Ivan seemed lucid and aware, alert, and yet for some reason had still spoken in Russian.

A glance over, a crinkle of Ivan's brow, but Ivan was very quick to look back up at Ludwig, seemingly hypnotized by him, and instead of asking questions, Ivan just uttered, in English, "I'll try. It's not very good, though."

Sounded just fine, Ivan's English, with as subtle an accent as Toris', maybe a bit more pronounced, and Ivan actually seemed quite confused at that, as if him speaking very good English was odd.

It was a thousand times better than that choppy, unnerving speech that Ivan had spouted in the police station.

Ivan paused, and then added, clearly to himself, "Maybe my studying finally worked."

...this was kinda weird.

Well! Jeez, the guy had just had brain surgery. The doctor had said that Ivan would be a little loopy at first. Coming back from something like that. Ivan had just had an entire team poking around in his brain and scrambling everything.

Anyway, at least he wasn't worried about beach balls falling off of space shuttles anymore, so Alfred figured the bastard was doing pretty well.

Ludwig looked relieved, and Alfred took another step forward.

Just in case.

Ivan looked around the room once more, gathering up his bearings, and attempted to figure out the situation as he sat up just a little. He looked down at the fabric tying his wrists to the bed, furrowed his brow, and seemed very deep in thought. From the look of him, he had just woken up on a foreign planet with no idea how he had gotten there, but his eyes eventually flew back to Ludwig, and stayed there.

A crooked smile from Ivan, charming, and Ivan said, "I'm in the hospital, huh?"

Ludwig nodded his head, simply, staring down at Ivan as if Ivan were the only thing left in the universe. Ivan stared right back at him, as if seeing the sun for the first time, and then Ivan suddenly broke into a full on smile, an absolute beam, canines poking gawkily out and eyes crinkled.

Ivan must have been in terrible pain, but the sight of Ludwig seemed to make him forget that.

Alfred felt invisible there in the corner.

Ludwig smiled too, really smiled. That bright, beautiful, full smile that only Ivan could ever seem to bring out of him. That same smile that Alfred had seen in that photo—so long Alfred had chased after that smile, so long he had tried to bring it out, and now here it was.

But only because of Ivan.

Once more, for just a brief moment, Romeo and Juliet had reconnected.

Ivan seemed as mesmerized by Ludwig's smile as Alfred was, and Ludwig was oddly playful in that moment, when he gave Ivan's hand a shake and murmured, "It's about time, Sleeping Beauty. You've been gone forever. Good of you to finally come back."

Alfred narrowed his eyes a little at that, in annoyance. He wasn't too keen on Ludwig teasing Ivan the way he had been teasing Alfred. Ludwig was completely and utterly relaxed in that second there beside the man that had so often nearly killed him, and Alfred felt that that was a mistake.

Too soon.

They didn't know yet Ivan's mental state, and Ludwig was already pretending that Ivan was once more that elusive 'good man'.

The way Ivan gazed at Ludwig then was pretty beautiful, Alfred had to begrudgingly admit.

What Ivan said next, though, made Ludwig's gorgeous smile drop.

"Sorry I took so long. Don't remember what happened, exactly. So. You must be my nurse. Hope so, anyway. That, or I died and went to heaven. What's your name?"

Just like that, everything fell still.

Toris inhaled, sharply, and Alfred's folded arms dropped to his sides in shock.

Oh, _shit_ —


	28. Different Persons

**Chapter 28**

**Different Persons**

Memory loss was expected, Kiku had said.

Yeah, but this was a little much.

Alfred felt strangely aghast and almost offended, as Toris came out of his shock and actually rolled his eyes in nothing short of disgust.

Ivan was loopy, alright, and in a bad damn way. Awake, but not really himself.

Ivan gazed at Ludwig, still smiling away, clearly very interested in getting Ludwig's name.

Ludwig's face crumpled completely, and even though he opened his mouth, he didn't manage to utter a word. Just looked down at Ivan as if his world had suddenly ended, and Ivan looked quite alarmed for it. Ludwig abruptly bolted upright, and Alfred could see that his eyes were already squinting and that he was close to crying. Alfred didn't make a move when Ludwig turned on his heel and left the room very quickly. Toris watched him go, and likewise made no move to stop him.

Ludwig went for Kiku, no doubt, and Alfred pitied Ludwig too much to follow him.

To be forgotten by the man that Ludwig loved more than anything else...

Couldn't imagine.

Toris' eyes were lidded in that familiarly condescending way, face droll and sighing through his nose. If Alfred didn't wanna be here, then, whew, boy! Was Toris ever ready for Ivan to keel over dead so he could call it a day.

Ivan lifted his arms weakly in the air as high as he could for the binds as Ludwig fled, and called, gently, "Hey! Wait! Wha— What did I say?"

Silence.

Ivan looked around the room, very clearly confused, and when his eyes settled on Alfred, he asked, in a deeper voice, "What the hell did I say, huh? Man. What is it with me? Why do I always make them run away? No matter what I do, I always make them run away, or cry."

Ivan stared at Alfred, with that effortless expression of bewilderment, no malice at all there upon his face. Ivan spoke to and looked at Alfred as if they were two men having a drink in a bar together.

How painfully surreal. Bizarre. Couldn't even wrap his head around this. Ivan really _didn't_ remember. Didn't remember Ludwig, and didn't remember Alfred.

This goddamn son of a bitch was _really_ starting to make Alfred's blood pressure rise.

At Alfred's silence, Ivan's expression went from confusion to annoyance, and that feeling was very mutual.

Ivan heaved a great sigh, his arms fell wearily back down to the bed, and then with a groan he collapsed into his pillow, closing his eyes and wincing as he restlessly squirmed. A low grumble in Russian.

It was absurd, ridiculous, but somehow Alfred had a stupid mental image of a much younger Ivan, fresh to the country, perusing New York bars hopefully only to send potential love interests darting away in frenzies, because Ivan was so big and intimidating and scary looking and not so handsome. That charming smile falling every time someone went running. Ivan sighing and lowering his eyes before moving on. No one ever smiling back at him.

Until Ludwig.

Alfred scoffed to himself. Dumb. His head was a wreck, almost as much as Ivan's literally scrambled brain.

After a moment, Ivan asked, to the ceiling, "Where am I?"

Toris didn't give Ivan the time of day, so it was Alfred who finally grumbled, crankily, "In the hospital, like you said."

Ivan's eyes snapped open, pinned Alfred in a second, and it was very obvious in his pursed lip and low brow that he was not amused. Alfred didn't flinch, didn't look away, braced up just like he did with Gilbert to let Ivan know that there was no way in hell Alfred was going to be pushed around. Ivan had a temper, Ludwig had always said so, and Alfred's smart mouth was already riling him up, even though Ivan was half-dead and nowhere near completely lucid.

Ivan looked quite dangerous in that second, and Alfred bristled up, but from excitement more than fear.

Oh, please, please, _please_ pitch a fit, please, needed Ivan to start screaming and ranting—

Ivan didn't.

Just sent Alfred his most potent, burning glare, but stayed silent.

Alfred was intensely disappointed.

His future relied upon Ivan's temper, and so far Ivan wasn't exactly being the raging bull that Alfred needed him to be. Alfred was annoyed, but not entirely defeated, because Ivan had just woken up. Wasn't fully aware, wasn't himself yet, had lost a good deal of memory, and so Alfred still clung to the unpleasant hope that Ivan would continue being the designated villain.

For now, though, Ivan was confused, bewildered, lost to time and space, and he eventually sighed through his nose and then turned to Toris, barking a question to him in Russian. Presumably the same question, and Toris was as inclined to humor Ivan as Alfred was, merely curling his lip, lifting his chin, and scoffing.

Ivan turned his head back, nostrils flaring in anger as he glowered away at the wall, and Alfred felt a twinge of guilt.

Ah, hell...

Ivan was disoriented and probably very scared, and instead of comforting him, the only people around were being intentional assholes. Alfred lowered his eyes to the floor, as Ivan wrung his wrists restlessly against the ties. But no matter how angry and agitated he was, Ivan didn't start screaming, and didn't try to break free.

Figured.

Alfred glanced up, and observed.

Ivan was a bit smaller than he had been just a week prior, from that coma, his head was still wrapped, hair sticking out from the bandages on one side, the circles dark under his eyes. He looked utterly exhausted, so tired, brow always crinkled from the immense amount of pain he must have been in. His pale skin still had that yellowish tint to it. A man who was very sick was easy to spot, and Ivan certainly fit the bill.

And yet, for how awful Ivan looked, there was something about him that caught Alfred's eye.

Something familiar.

It took Alfred a good minute to figure out why :

When Alfred looked at Ivan then, when he met his eyes and saw his face, it was easy to recognize the man from Ludwig's wedding photos. Ivan looked just like he had back then, had that same air about him, despite his haggard appearance and cranky mood. Ludwig had been right all along, and there was no point in denying it anymore. Ivan was different, and it was obvious for even Alfred to see. A different man. A different person.

Ivan. Ludwig's husband. A man given an unfair hand.

A _threat_.

A man that could so easily swoop in and once more charm cold Ludwig right off his feet, no matter how tightly Alfred clung to him. Ivan had done it once before, and apparently was already interested in doing so again. For god's sake, Ivan had woken up, dazed and confused from a coma, and the first thing he had been interested in was the pretty blond beside of him. Hadn't even asked yet what the hell had happened to him, so focused was he on Ludwig. Hooked up to a million cables, head on fire, wrists tied to a bed, and still Ivan saw Ludwig and thought, 'This is more important.'

Russians sure did take romance seriously.

Ivan had nothing but glares for Alfred and Toris (rightfully so, admittedly), but oh, boy, had Ivan ever put on the charm for Ludwig.

The door suddenly clicked open, and Ivan and Alfred looked over at the same time to see the doctor striding in, a bleary-eyed Ludwig right behind him.

Ivan sat back up with an inhale, eyes falling immediately on Ludwig and that soft smile rising again. Ivan's foul mood and agitation faded the second Ludwig was back in his sights, if only because Ivan had awoken with Ludwig holding his hand.

Kiku came forward and said, cheerily, "Nice to see you awake, Ivan! How are you feeling?"

"Like a satellite fell on me," Ivan said without missing a beat, and without once taking his eyes away from Ludwig. Kiku gave an airy little snort and came forward, reaching down to examine Ivan very aggressively. Ivan, sitting still and not moving a muscle, tried very hard to keep his gaze on Ludwig, despite how frequently the doctor moved his head around.

There was probably a reason Kiku still had Ivan's hands tied to the bed, and from the very pained way Ivan was wincing, it was likely so that Kiku could examine confused Ivan then without getting punched. A sound decision; Ivan may have been sick, but was still enormous.

Ludwig stood back for a long moment, staring at Ivan as if Ivan had finally stabbed him in the chest after many attempts, even as Ivan kept on trying to smile at him between Kiku's aggressive manhandling.

Alfred took a step towards Ludwig, but stopped quickly short, because he didn't know what to do or say. Nothing could have ever really made Ludwig feel better, at having his own husband forget who he was, and Alfred always put his foot in his mouth. Ludwig was heartbroken, and it was clear to see. Couldn't stand seeing Ludwig like that, really couldn't, but Ludwig was Ludwig, in the end, and, as he always did, Ludwig somehow managed to gather up his strength, to find his way, and with a shaking exhale Ludwig had steeled himself.

Ludwig stepped forward, and with every pace he took Ivan's smile widened, despite his hisses and winces as Kiku examined him.

When Ludwig was beside the bed, Ivan murmured, gently, "Hey. Sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. Really. Whatever I said, I'm sorry. You alright?"

Ivan's pretty voice crooned away to Ludwig, softly and soothingly, and the look on his face was quite frightening to Alfred, because it was easy there to see how much Ivan was already invested in Ludwig, despite not remembering him. Ivan looked genuinely concerned for Ludwig, and Alfred didn't know if that had something to do with Ivan waking up in the dark with Ludwig being the first thing he felt and saw. Imprinting, in some strange way.

Love at first sight, for the second time. How could that be? Wasn't fair.

Or maybe some part of Ivan did remember Ludwig, deep down, and that was why Ivan was so fervently drawn to him. Seeing something so strange and yet so familiar. Comforting, but foreign. No memories were ever truly forgotten; they were still there in Ivan's mind, even if they couldn't be dragged up, and something in Ivan heeded Ludwig's call, as he had when he had been so sick.

Ludwig's magnet was dragging in a planet this time, as opposed to Alfred's little piece of metal.

Ludwig tilted his head a bit, trying to smile, and as Kiku watched them curiously, Ludwig uttered, lowly, "No need to apologize. I should be the one saying 'sorry'. I didn't mean to— Well. I suppose I was just a bit overwhelmed. I'm just so glad to see you awake, after so long."

Ivan looked breathless then, smile wide and eyes crinkled, and his voice was much more content when he replied, "Oh, yeah? Well, you must be exhausted. Can't be easy, being a nurse. You probably work yourself to death. You should rest."

Alfred crossed his arms once more, huffily, and took again to leaning against the wall as he stared down this big ugly son of a bitch that was audaciously flirting with his damn man right there in front of him. Alfred felt in that moment that he was surrounded by assholes, and so perhaps he and Ivan had something in common for once aside from their taste in men.

Ludwig smiled, a bit sadly, and Kiku took charge then, by grabbing Ivan's face, forcing his head over, and holding his gaze.

"This isn't your nurse," Kiku nearly snorted, certainly smiling despite the unfortunate circumstances. "You're having a bit of memory loss, Ivan. You just underwent a very long, very dangerous operation. You've just forgotten some things. It'll come back to you."

Ivan's brow scrunched up as Kiku clenched his face, he looked understandably alarmed, and he repeated, a bit dumbly, "Memory loss?"

Kiku glanced over at Ludwig, and Alfred could never have expressed how grateful he was that Kiku stayed silent then and didn't chirp, 'Oh, yeah, this is your husband! Congrats.'

Ivan woulda been over the moon.

Instead, Kiku let Ivan's head go, and just like a magnet indeed Ivan turned his eyes right back to Ludwig, because apparently the dumb bastard was more interested in getting to know the stranger beside him more than he was figuring what his 'dangerous operation' had been.

Good lord, the hospital could have caught fire then, and Ivan still woulda stared over at Ludwig, not moving an inch even as the flames lapped at his feet, because he was just too intent on flirting.

"So," Ivan breathed, as Kiku began listening to his heart and lungs, "You're not my nurse, huh? Who are you? We know each other?"

Ivan was lit up, bright, eager, clearly very happy to think that he knew Ludwig.

Well. Guess that presently this was all Ivan really had going for him, since he didn't know where the hell he was or why. Ludwig was very handsome, and that was always enough to distract a man in even the most dire of circumstances.

Ludwig came over all the way, as Kiku took to removing Ivan's bandages, and reached out to rest his hand on Ivan's shoulder. Alfred could swear that Ivan had shivered.

"We work together," Ludwig finally said, vaguely.

Ivan cracked another one of those wide smiles, gawky canines poking out, and Ivan was very quick to ask, "You're my coworker? What are you?"

Toris was texting away, grimacing very potently, and Alfred could only imagine Gilbert somewhere melting down.

Ludwig brushed Ivan's bangs out of his eyes, free now from the bandages, and replied, with surprisingly good stoicism, "I'm an aeronautical engineer."

"No way," Ivan immediately crooned, even as he gave a great wince when Kiku prodded his head. "You can't be. You must be a model."

Ludwig blazed furiously red, gave a nervous laugh, and Alfred rolled his eyes at the same time Toris did, but without Toris' scoff of utter disgust. Kiku, perhaps a romantic under it all, seemed positively tickled, actually biting his bottom lip to suppress what would have been a smile.

Alfred's chest was hurting. An ache. The pain he was feeling seemed like such a stark contrast to that childish happiness on Ivan's face.

A man in courting-mode, contrasting with one in mourning.

In order to catch Ludwig's attention, Alfred had been bright and loud, as charming and shiny as possible, and Ivan was very clearly in that same frame of mind, putting on a show for Ludwig to draw him in. Trying to pretend that he wasn't in godawful pain, that he wasn't sick, that he wasn't bothered, because if Ludwig saw him as strong and brave and powerful then his chances of snaring Ludwig's attention was greater.

Alfred felt like he knew Ivan _too_ well, suddenly, after having no feel of him for so long.

Didn't want it now. Not anymore.

Alfred tried to distract himself by observing Ivan's wound. A very large suture across the top and right side of his head. Looked quite gruesome indeed, and Alfred very quickly looked away, because it was making his stomach turn a little. Must have hurt more than any words could have described, and every time Kiku's flitting fingers prodded, Ivan's face scrunched up in pain.

Ludwig tried to distract Ivan from that agony by reaching out again and taking his hand.

As before, Ivan seemed quite mesmerized, as Kiku cleaned up the wound and started wrapping it back up in fresh bandages.

Another strong wince, a hiss, but Ivan shook it off, tried to bury it, and said, "I never got your name."

A short silence, as Ludwig gathered his bravery, and then Ludwig murmured, in that deep rumble Alfred loved, "I'm Ludwig."

"Ludwig," Ivan repeated quickly, eagerly. A hesitation, a crinkle of Ivan's brow, as he averted his eyes thoughtfully. Ludwig leaned forward, breath held, and Alfred waited anxiously as Ivan repeated Ludwig's name under his breath, as if feeling extreme familiarity. Just couldn't fire in the end, apparently, for Ivan lifted his eyes, shrugged it off, and carried on. "Ludwig. That's a German name, isn't it? Lovely. Well, I'm Ivan, as you know. It's my absolute pleasure to meet you, Ludwig. Well! Again. So. We must be friends, for you to be here. Is that right? I'm sorry I don't remember. I wish I did."

Alfred cursed under his breath, bitterly.

Disappointment, and not because Ludwig's name didn't spark Ivan's memory. More like disappointed that Ivan was alarmingly charming when he was attempting to win someone over. That fuckin' sucked.

So long seeing Ivan at his absolute worst that having him act like a normal human being was somehow jarring and in a way alarming.

Alfred wanted Ivan to rage, and instead Ivan decided to woo.

Creep.

Ludwig gave Ivan's hand a tight squeeze when Ivan winced again, and said, "We're very good friends. Don't worry. It will...come back to you."

Ludwig blinked too quickly, but held himself together so well then. Alfred would have been more impressed by Ludwig if he hadn't been so intimidated by Ivan.

Ivan's eyes ran over Ludwig's face, as if he just couldn't get enough of looking at him, and then Ivan whispered, "Very good friends, huh? Thanks. I, uh... I don't have any friends here. Can't seem to make any. Thanks for giving me a chance. You must be a saint, to put up with _me_."

...well, Ludwig kinda was a saint, Alfred would let Ivan have that one.

Alfred could very certainly feel an immense uphill battle.

But, _oh_ —

Alfred scoffed and hung his head, all of that jealousy and annoyance suddenly fleeing him as quickly as it had come. Because, hell...

Ivan had forgotten everything, yeah, was charming Ludwig because he saw something he was interested in having beside of him for a good while, and that suddenly made Alfred feel under the dirt because _goddammit_ , someone was gonna haveta look Ivan in the eye now and tell him he was _dying_.

How did you tell someone they were dying?

Ivan looked so happy. Clueless. A young, strong man, who would never have had any idea in his head at all that his time was up. A man from a country far away that had no family, no friends, all alone in this shitty city, and now he had to fight this on top of that with no one there to support him.

No one to hold him upright, because Alfred had been tasked with keeping away from Ivan the one person on the planet that loved him.

Alfred remembered sometimes why he hated the world.

Kiku must have suddenly pulled the bandages too tight, for Ivan suddenly gave a very vocal wince, nearly a cry, face contorting in pain and eyes squinting shut. A jerk of Ivan's hands, as they tried to instinctively raise up to protect his head.

Kiku pulled away a bit, uttering, "I'm sorry. I know that hurts. We'll give you something a little stronger for the pain, okay? Just be patient with me. Tomorrow, when you're feeling a little better, I'll untie your hands, alright? It's just to keep you from touching your wound as you sleep."

Ivan shrunk away from Kiku, instinctively, but a quick glance over at Ludwig had him suddenly gritting his teeth and trying very hard to sit still despite the awful agony he must have been in. Ivan's knuckles were white, and Alfred knew that the vice grip he had on Ludwig's hand must have been painful, but Ludwig didn't once twitch, didn't move a muscle. Just sat there, silently, and smiled at Ivan encouragingly.

With Ludwig beside of him, Ivan steadied his breathing and tried to be brave.

Alfred knew that feeling well; the need to impress, above all else. Pretending to be strong, brave, unbothered, impervious, so that Ludwig would see something worthwhile.

Toris was still texting furiously away, briefcase forgotten beside of him. Couldn't really convince Ivan in that state to sign divorce papers, when Ivan didn't even remember getting married.

Kiku finished at last, stood up straight, and smiled down at Ivan a bit proudly.

"It looks good! You're healing very well. I'm impressed with you, Ivan. You've been surpassing my expectations."

Ludwig lifted his chin, as he often did when he was feeling proud of Ivan, and smiled.

It fell once more, quickly, when Ivan finally asked the dreaded question.

"So," Ivan began, as he glanced between Kiku and Ludwig, "What's wrong with me? Did I have an accident? A car crash, or something? Why can't I remember?"

Alfred's stomach twisted, and Ludwig's eyes fell to the blanket, blankly.

Toris seemed unbothered, waiting as drolly as ever, fingers momentarily falling still from his mass texting parade.

Kiku pursed his lips, held Ivan's gaze, and finally said, "I want you just to rest up today, alright? You've been asleep for a long time. Rest today, and tomorrow we're going to sit down and talk about it. I want you to have a clear head."

Ivan might have been a little unnerved and scared by that, rightfully so, if the line of tension in his brow was any indication, but he was distracted easily enough by Ludwig. Sensing Ivan's apprehension, Ludwig gave Ivan's hand a jostle, and said, "I'll be here tomorrow, too. Don't worry. It'll be alright. Just take it easy today. There's no need to worry."

Ivan smiled again, a bit less brightly than before, teeth no longer showing, but gave a stiff nod all the same.

To appear unfazed in the sights of someone he found attractive, Ivan gave a weak scoff, and teased, "I'll owe you a bunch of dinners after this is over, huh? Some flowers, too. For staying here with me, and for me forgetting you." A sudden crinkle of Ivan's brow, a thoughtful look, and Ivan said, to himself, "Blue flowers. Blue's your favorite color."

Ludwig stared at Ivan very intently, eyes reddening as they started glistening, and Ludwig's voice cracked when he uttered, "That's right. You remembered something."

Ivan seemed encouraged, his face relaxed, and he exhaled heavily.

Alfred suddenly realized that he had never asked Ludwig what his favorite color was. Who thought of things like that? _Ivan_ , apparently.

But then...

Something changed, something shifted, and Ivan's face abruptly collapsed. He looked so _confused_ , suddenly, so lost, and Alfred hated it because he felt _sorry_ for Ivan, and he didn't wanna feel sorry for that bastard. Ivan had woken up in the middle of a misty black forest, with nothing familiar in sight, and must have been indescribably vulnerable for it. Couldn't imagine how that felt, to be so alone and having no stable ground beneath.

Ivan looked scared for a moment, jaw clenched and pulse racing, and Ludwig leaned in, alarmed, to whisper, "Hey. What's wrong?"

Ivan shook his head, blinked quickly, swallowed, and uttered, "Nothing."

Had Ivan remembered something else?

Maybe he had felt something. A glimpse of those shadows. Darkness. The tumor wasn't completely gone, not all of it, and maybe the world still looked different to Ivan than it did a normal man. Something had startled him, made him uneasy, because his mind wasn't fully sound yet.

Kiku watched, very carefully, no doubt taking many mental notes as Ivan sifted through emotions and moods.

Ivan's pulse hammered away in his neck, and even though he must have been terrified in that second, he still tried hard to appease Ludwig, and whispered, "I'm fine. Really. You should go rest. I'm fine."

Didn't look fine.

Ludwig, far too close to tears, offered in turn, "I'll stay, if you want me to. I will, I—"

"No," Ivan interrupted, pupils very dilated and smile faltering however hard he tried to hold it up. "Really. I think... I'm just going to go to sleep. Really. Go home. I'll be fine. I'll see you tomorrow."

Alfred happened to glance down, and saw that the hairs on Ivan's big forearms were standing on end.

Petrified, absolutely and utterly petrified, scared to death, and Ivan probably couldn't even explain _why_ , because he didn't know where or when he was and how he had gotten there and what was really going on. The world that Alfred saw was scary enough; couldn't comprehend how terrifying Ivan's must have been.

With that twinge of pity and sympathy making him sick, Alfred took a step towards the door, trying to spur Ludwig on. Ludwig, mercifully, took the hint, standing up at last and reaching out to rest his hand once more on Ivan's shoulder.

A long stare, and then Ludwig walked to the door, Kiku following him.

At the last second, Ivan called, "Ludwig."

Ludwig whirled around, very ready to spring back and stay at Ivan's side. But Ivan just sat up in bed, eyes wide and brow low, jaw clenched, looking yet so scared, and their gazes met.

A long silence.

Ivan began, "Ludwig. Did I ever— Are we... Did..."

Alfred waited, anxiously, but Ivan fell still, and lowered his electric gaze down to the blanket, going from fear to defeat.

"Never mind," Ivan murmured, lowly. "It's nothing. Never mind."

Felt like Ivan had been so close, had had something there, maybe something awful but _something_ , but it had slipped away from him at the last second. Ivan probably couldn't discern reality from whatever garbled, frightening nightmare had been constantly playing up in his head. Didn't know what was real, and so stayed quiet.

Ludwig stared at Ivan for a long while, swallowing, and then said, "Tomorrow. I'll be back. I give you my word."

A weak, pale smile from Ivan, who uttered, "And you never break your word. Right. See you."

Ludwig turned back around and marched out, but did so only because he had finally started crying and he didn't want Ivan to see.

But, oh, did Kiku catch an earful as soon as they were a short distance down the hall.

Ludwig immediately leapt upon Kiku, crying as he was, whining, "What's _wrong_ with him? Why can't he remember anything? I didn't expect any of _this_! This can't be— It's not permanent, is it? He'll remember eventually, won't he? Won't he?"

Had never heard Ludwig blabber quite that, shooting out questions left and right so furiously that Alfred could barely keep up with him, and it was worse because he was sobbing so furiously. Swear to god that Ludwig had cried more in two weeks than he had in his entire life, and Kiku eventually just reached out and placed his hands on Ludwig's shoulders, shushing him rather effectively.

"Ludwig. Take a deep breath for me, alright?"

Ludwig's crumpled face was hard to look at, as Alfred shuffled in the hall, ready to go, but Ludwig finally obeyed and took a deep breath, and then another, as the doctor kept him still.

Toris came sauntering out behind them, eyes still glued on his phone as he texted yet away to a wrathful Gilbert, abandoned briefcase tucked under his arm. Toris was always creepily calm, yes, but for some reason it annoyed Alfred more in that moment than it ever had. Toris looked more like he was a teenager on lame babysitting duty, texting his boyfriend about how bored and irritated he was, too good to be here.

Toris merely glanced up through his thick lashes at the doctor, curled his lip, and looked right back down.

Toris loved Ludwig, so much, but maybe Toris just hated Ivan a little more potently.

When Ludwig was finally quiet, in control of his breathing and no longer bawling, Kiku said, "I told you that memory loss is expected. Perhaps not quite to _this_ extent, I'll admit, but I just spent nineteen hours rooting around in Ivan's brain, ripping things out. It's natural. I promise. Most of the time, the memories return, slowly but surely. Every time he wakes up, he'll probably remember a little bit more. Now, I can't promise that he'll remember everything, but I can guarantee that some of it, at least, will come back. If not now, then certainly after the second operation, his memory will be jogged. If not, then, well... Just think of it as a chance to start over anew."

Alfred bristled at that, as Ludwig stared miserably at Kiku through squinted eyes.

Start anew? Like hell. Everything Alfred was afraid of. Everything Ludwig might have desperately wanted.

Alfred would have waged war if need be to keep Ludwig. Wouldn't go down without a fight, that was for sure, wouldn't let Ivan win that easily. Not like that. For Ludwig, Alfred would have gone down fighting. Wouldn't go quietly. It wasn't Ivan's fault, and maybe Ivan had more right, far more right, because technically Ivan was still married to Ludwig, but Alfred had fallen in love with Ludwig and would have followed him the world over.

This wasn't fair to anyone, but that didn't mean that Alfred was going to just roll over.

Ivan might have been in love, but Alfred was, too.

The world wasn't a fair place, never had been, and so Alfred took crying Ludwig home, held him on the couch, and swore to himself that he wasn't going to lose to Ivan. Come hell or high water, Alfred was going to keep Ludwig, like Gilbert wanted.

By whatever means.

Ivan had had his chance. This was Alfred's time, and Alfred was steadily gathering up that fire and resolve he needed to be forceful. Ivan was going to be gone, sooner or later, and Ludwig was just going to have to sit down and accept it.

It was terrible, yeah, and he knew he shouldn't think it, but he couldn't help it, he couldn't : Ivan was _dying_ , and so Ludwig _had_ to stay with Alfred.

Even if in his heart he didn't want to.

Ivan was scared, and Alfred was determined to deny him the one thing that might have given him a source of light.

But he wasn't the bad guy...


	29. Please Love Me

**Chapter 29**

**Please Love Me**

The next morning, Ludwig was awake at dawn, bustling away in the kitchen as Alfred tiredly stared yet again at the ceiling. Had memorized every single little groove and grain of paint on that ceiling by now, much as he had gazed at it every damn night.

Hard to find the motivation to get out of bed now, when there was really nothing to do.

No job. No threat. No danger.

Ludwig didn't need him anymore, and Alfred was beginning to wonder how far Ludwig's disconnect with Alfred was going to go.

Ludwig was hyper-focused on Ivan, and Alfred felt once more like a roommate.

More so when he finally dragged himself out of bed, wandered into the kitchen, and saw Ludwig making breakfast. Alfred stood in the frame and watched him morosely, because Ludwig was making breakfast for three; he had already begun packing up a little bag, no doubt meant for Ivan.

Alfred was trying desperately hard not to be jealous, not to be selfish, but that was impossible for him, at least completely, so he just felt the pricks of jealousy as he sat down and glowered into his coffee.

Ludwig seemed bristled up in anxiety, excited but also nervous, and it was clear in the way Ludwig couldn't sit still, running here and there rather frantically. He stopped at many points and leaned over to kiss Alfred's cheek, even as Alfred pouted, and the cause for his anxiety was made apparent when he suddenly asked aloud, "Do you think he'll remember more today?"

Alfred stared blankly into his coffee, and grumbled, testily, "I dunno. Do ya really want him to?"

He didn't mean to be a jerk, really. It wasn't intentional.

He was just hurt.

Ludwig was too nervous to notice Alfred's tone or mood, and kept on bustling fretfully about, as Alfred picked mindlessly at his plate.

Didn't feel like eating.

He had half a mind to go right back to sleep and let Ludwig go visit Ivan alone.

But he couldn't do that, and there were two large reasons :

Firstly, the tumor wasn't entirely gone. Ivan was still not in his right mind, and although he had woken up gentler than Alfred had ever seen him, he was nowhere near normal. That was obvious enough, in those shadows that had been on Ivan's face at the last second, and also in his very impulsive flirtations. Still loopy, not all there. Ivan's head was still a mess, and it was entirely possible that he could still have any moment started raging. If he did, then Ludwig being there alone with him would be far too dangerous, however weak and sick Ivan may now have been.

Secondly, and more importantly, Ivan was apparently intent on courting Ludwig above all else, and Alfred would be goddamned if he stayed here at home and left Ludwig alone to succumb to that ugly bastard's undeniable charms.

Alfred had never once in his life claimed he was a good person.

But Ivan wasn't, either, and Alfred still hadn't met him yet. Hadn't met the real Ivan, because if the angry, violent one wasn't the real one, than this smiling, charming one wasn't Ivan either. Once upon a time, it might have been, but things had changed a lot since then, people changed, and until Ivan's memory was completely back, Alfred couldn't say that he had ever actually met Ludwig's husband.

So much had been said and done, and Ivan was still a stranger.

Jittery Ludwig kissed Alfred's cheek one more time, out of nervousness, sat down and ate so quickly that Alfred was shocked he hadn't choked, and then leapt back up to finish lovingly packing Ivan's little care kit.

Alfred tried hard to set the table on fire with his glare, and failed.

Instead, he found himself once more trudging stupidly behind Ludwig, who was walking so quickly down the hospital hall that Alfred could barely keep up with his long legs.

Man. Hadn't even been able to enjoy ogling Ludwig's legs, and that said so much about how deep in this rut Alfred was.

They didn't make it straight to Ivan's room.

Kiku intercepted them in the hall, waving Ludwig over. Ludwig, predictably, panicked a little, darting over to the doctor and skidding in, asking immediately, before anyone could breathe, "What's wrong?"

Kiku murmured, "Calm down, everything's fine," as he once more reached out to put his hands on Ludwig's shoulders to quiet him.

When Ludwig was as calm as he was going to get, Kiku gave his arm a clap.

"He still doesn't remember. I talked to him earlier."

Ludwig's face fell, and his eyes lowered to the floor, shoulders slumping. Alfred was kinda glad, to be honest, because even though this was extremely annoying, in some way he would have felt worse if Ivan had finally remembered who Ludwig was.

Maybe it was best for everyone for Ivan to be clueless, at least until his operations were finished.

Kiku glanced down, saw the bag Ludwig was holding, and seemed very pleased, quick to tease, "That's very good! I always say the biggest obstacle to recovery is eating hospital food. He'll enjoy that."

Ludwig perked up, as Kiku had wanted, and put on a brave face.

But it was time to get into business, apparently, because Kiku's expression became very serious, and his voice was deeper, sterner, when he said, "We need to go over some things. Today, we're going to explain to him everything that's happening. I'll go over the diagnosis with him. I'm sure everything will be fine, but there is something I need to warn you about, just in case : Ivan is lucid now. That means that all medical decisions are now his own, not yours. So we'll need his permission to perform the second surgery, and then the radiation. As I said, I'm sure it won't be a problem, but you should know that he has full control now. We can't force him to do anything he doesn't want to do, nor can you decide anything in his stead. Understand?"

Ludwig nodded, even though he swallowed.

"I think it's best if we just let him carry on until the second surgery without telling him anything. The less stress, the better. Don't tell him who you really are, or what's happened. Until after the next surgery."

Alfred pushed his lips out thoughtfully, and he knew that Ludwig was now very much dreading Ivan actually remembering something before the second operation. If Ivan suddenly remembered everything, would that change things? Alfred wondered if Ivan would agree to treatment, if he suddenly remembered the entire truth. Maybe Ivan would seek a nobler way out and choose to go quietly and without causing anymore trouble.

Alfred glanced over at Ludwig, and tried so hard not to wish the worst thing.

Shouldn't want Ivan to refuse treatment, shouldn't have ever let it cross his mind that that would be best for everyone.

Kiku reached out, gave Ludwig a jostle for courage, and said, "Go on. I'll let you two enjoy a little breakfast together. I'll come back in two hours or so. The next operation will be in ten days, if all goes well. He'll need you until then. Alright?"

Another nod from Ludwig, and a weak smile.

Kiku turned on his heel, and was gone. He left behind him much turmoil and fear. Anxiety.

Despair.

Ten days seemed like eternity, trying to tiptoe around a man with no vital memory.

Ludwig took a deep breath for courage, closed his eyes, steeled his will, and then opened the door. He walked in there knowing that Ivan's fate was no longer in his hands, and Alfred knew that losing control of something was instinctively terrifying to Ludwig and those who shared his blood.

The first thing that Alfred noticed when he came into the room were the red flowers all around, still holding strong and barely wilting. The next thing he noticed was the blanket Ludwig had brought from home, pulled up to Ivan's chin. The next thing Alfred noticed was Ivan himself.

Or, rather, how awful he looked.

Paler than the day before, the circles under his eyes so much darker. That yellow tint clung to him yet. His cheeks were more prominent than Alfred remembered.

Ivan may not have been expecting anyone so soon after the doctor had left him, because he had been rolled a little onto his side, practically cocooned up in that blanket, and he seemed quite startled when they came inside.

Ivan looked over, inhaled, and sat up straight as an arrow, and even though he looked like absolute hell, he was smiling, if not as brightly as before. His gaze was locked on Ludwig, as expected. Ivan looked spent, utterly exhausted, and merely murmured, "Hey."

Ludwig asked, "How are you feeling?"

Ivan's eyes flitted oddly between Ludwig and Alfred, and Alfred tried to look unfriendly and unbothered. Ivan hadn't spoken to him yet, not directly in a sense if only to make conversation, and Alfred desperately wanted to keep it that way.

Finally, Ivan turned to Ludwig, and said, "Okay. I just didn't sleep too well last night. Couldn't stop having nightmares."

Nightmares or flashbacks?

Maybe Ivan's memory returned to him on the verge of sleep, and he kept mistaking them for dreams.

Alfred realized that Ivan's hands were no longer tied to the bed, presumably because there wasn't such a risk now for a dazed Ivan to claw at his bandages. The crinkle of pain in his brow seemed a little less visible, though, so Alfred imagined that Kiku had made good on his promise to give Ivan something stronger for the pain. Alfred didn't like Ivan, kinda wanted him to just roll over already, but at the same time Alfred was oddly relieved that the bastard wasn't in such awful agony.

Ludwig came forward, smiled, and began unpacking Ivan's little breakfast there on the bedside table. Ivan watched, hypnotized by Ludwig, and managed to ask, breathlessly, "This for me?"

"Of course," Ludwig murmured, deep voice very warm, "You have to recover, don't you? Don't tell me you actually want to eat hospital food."

"No thanks," Ivan scoffed back, and Alfred noticed with a twinge of anger that Ivan's eyes were running up and down Ludwig's legs.

Goddammit—

Ludwig set a tray atop Ivan, arranged everything as he saw fit, and may as well have been Ivan's nurse, from the way he very carefully made sure that Ivan could eat comfortably. Ivan did everything Ludwig wanted without a second of hesitation, and just kept staring at Ludwig as if he were an extraterrestrial that Ivan's satellite had accidentally discovered.

The first thing Ivan said, when Ludwig sat down, was, "I'm glad you came back. I was hoping to speak to you more."

"Oh?"

Ludwig crossed his legs, and Alfred hated the way Ivan's eyes followed the motions, trailing over Ludwig's long legs with intent. Ugh. After a moment, Ivan finally ripped his eyes from Ludwig's legs, resumed eye contact, and smiled.

"Yeah. I, uh... Well. I don't really remember too much what we talked about yesterday. It's a little... I don't know. I just can't seem to remember anything. But I was hoping that maybe, when I get back on my feet, that maybe I could take you out somewhere. To thank you. We're friends, after all. Aren't we? I'm sorry—I spent all night trying to remember you, I really did, but... It didn't work. So. Maybe we could...go out. So I can get to know you all over again."

Ludwig rested his chin on his hand, smiling away at Ivan, and merely crooned, "I think we can work something out. But, you have to recover first. Let's do one thing at a time, alright? First, eat. You need to regain your strength."

Ivan jumped a little, and very quickly did as Ludwig ordered, picking up his fork and eating. He just stopped every minute or so to glance over and make awkward conversation with Ludwig, who smiled away and watched Ivan so fondly.

Alfred was very offended that Ludwig hadn't looked over at Alfred for permission to humor Ivan's shameless wooing.

As if Ludwig had forgotten that Alfred was there.

Ludwig reached out at one point, ran his fingers through the pale hair sticking out from Ivan's bandage, and said, "We'll have to give you a haircut soon. Clean you up."

Ivan fell instantly still under Ludwig's fingers, and seemed to stop breathing.

There was a long silence, and then Ivan gave a weak, nervous laugh, and grunted, "Yeah. I probably look a mess. I'm sorry. I promise I don't always look like this."

Ludwig just smiled a bit more wanly, and whispered, "I know."

Ivan lowered his eyes, and said, as weakly, "Oh. ...right."

How disconcerting it must have to been, to not remember someone who apparently knew everything about you. Vulnerable and exposed.

Ivan finished eating shortly after, looked a little better for it, a little brighter, and when Ludwig took the tray away, Ivan grabbed the blanket in his hands and said, "The doctor said you brought this in. Thanks. It's nice."

Ludwig opened his mouth, but he fell quickly silent.

Alfred imagined he had nearly said, 'Of course; it was ours.'

Ivan wasn't the only vulnerable one there.

And then, what Alfred most dreaded finally happened.

Ivan turned his pale eyes to Alfred, gave him a look over, and asked, "What was your name again?"

Ludwig tensed up visibly, snapping his eyes over to Alfred with a look nothing short of pleading.

"Alfred."

Ivan gave a 'hm', and Alfred hoped he would leave it there, but naturally Ivan then asked, "And—sorry—how do we know each other?"

Alfred glanced at Ludwig, whose brow was crinkled pitifully, jaw clenched and lips pursed, and Alfred could see him swallow nervously.

Alfred tried to stay calm, tried to remember the doctor's words, tried to find that tiny little bit of him that actually was a good person, because he didn't want to break Ludwig's heart.

Couldn't tell Ivan the truth, because Ludwig would hate him.

So Alfred thought quick, put on the spot as he was, wracked his brain, tried to figure out something good, and finally uttered, a bit gruffly, "We don't. I'm just here to observe. For legal purposes."

Ah, damn, was that too far?

As long as Alfred kept his mouth shut and wasn't forced to talk and sound like a lawyer or whatever, Ivan wouldn't know the difference.

Ivan, still all mixed up and easy to placate, lifted his chin, and surmised, very calmly, "For the company's insurance, huh?"

Er, yes, that, right, exactly.

Alfred gave a very stiff nod, and Ludwig closed his eyes momentarily. When he opened them again, he gazed at Alfred with palpable adoration, and that was just enough to give Alfred the boost of confidence he desperately needed to get through this ordeal.

Ten days. It was only ten days. He could do this, he could. He could make it ten more days with Ivan flirting endlessly with Ludwig. Ten days, and then the jerk would go under the knife again, and hopefully wake up with no tumor left and a clear memory.

Then, they could all see where they stood. How Ivan wanted to spend what little time he had left.

Alfred sat down, and zoned out as Ivan and Ludwig made small talk. Two hours later, as promised, Kiku came back, with a gentle rap on the door.

Ludwig jumped upright, and looked as if someone had tossed ice water down his back.

Kiku poked his head in, smiled very happily when he saw Ivan looking brighter, huddled up under Ludwig's blanket, and then he came inside and shut the door behind him.

It was time, and everyone was dreading it.

Kiku turned his dark eyes to Ivan, and said, "You look a little better than you did when we spoke earlier. I suppose I may have to request that Ludwig bring you breakfast every day." Kiku sent Ludwig a very quick wink, and Alfred kinda wanted to punch Kiku in the face. "How are you feeling now?"

"Better," Ivan said, though it was likely a lie. Mentally better, maybe, emotionally better, with Ludwig there, but he obviously wasn't feeling better physically. Still looked half-dead.

Alfred kept glancing anxiously at the door, waiting for Toris and Gilbert to come barging in, but they never did.

Kiku pulled up a chair next to the bed, settled down, clasped his hands between his knees, and stared at Ivan with a smile. Alfred found Kiku just as unusual as the rest of the lot, a man whose entire profession revolved around death and misery and grief, and yet he still perked up so eagerly when there was a chance to play matchmaker with one of his most problematic patients.

Alfred supposed that, to Kiku, this was one of the brighter moments in a hospital. People in love lit up not only each other, but the world around them, and Kiku was as drawn to that as Alfred.

Kiku was actively and boldly attempting to undermine everything Alfred had worked to build up for himself, and Alfred couldn't even really be mad about it. Couldn't raise hell, couldn't cause a scene. This time, Alfred couldn't pitch a fit because there wasn't really anyone to blame.

Nobody's fault, and that was the worst.

Kiku glanced at Ludwig, who braced up, gave a short nod, and steeled himself back up for this very unpleasant task at hand. Alfred didn't see why he bothered, because there was no amount of bracing that could ever really prepare a man for something like this.

"Ivan," Kiku began, "We have some very important things we need to talk about now, you and I."

Ivan sat up a little straighter, glancing very frequently at Ludwig as his expression shifted over into anxiety and unease.

Kiku kept on smiling, trying to be casual and upbeat.

"Ivan, the reason you're here in the hospital now doesn't have anything to do with an accident. I'm afraid that we had discovered a tumor, in the frontal lobe of your brain."

Oh. Kiku was gonna just leap right in. Great. Alfred was already squirming.

Ivan already looked like hell, so Alfred was surprised a little when Ivan seemed to pale a bit. Went completely still, like a statue, and seemed momentarily unable to breathe. As if he had been hit over the head with a rock, and in a way Alfred supposed he had been. Only the rock was a tumor.

Ludwig reached out and grabbed Ivan's hand.

This time, that wasn't quite enough to settle Ivan's nerves.

After a long moment, Ivan repeated, as if to confirm more to himself, "I had a brain tumor?"

Kiku nodded.

"The good news is that we've operated, which is why you're having some memory loss, and we successfully removed the majority of the tumor. That's the good news. The bad news is that, because it was so large, we had to leave some behind. So, we need to operate again, to remove the rest of it. And then we'll need to talk about our next steps."

That awful look on Ivan's face. His eyes were wide under his low brow, his jaw was clenched, pulse pounding, and he looked so scared. Ivan had been the thing that had terrorized Alfred more than anything else, and so he really wanted to enjoy Ivan being on the other end, feeling that same horror and terror, but Alfred couldn't say he felt any sort of satisfaction then.

He just felt numb. A little sad, even, as hard as he tried not to be.

Ivan had wreaked havoc on Alfred's life, but it wasn't really his fault, and so Alfred couldn't truly feel any sort of justification for being content with Ivan looking so scared then.

That was the first time that Alfred looked around and realized that maybe there wasn't exactly a bad guy at all in this situation.

Just a big mess that no one was really to blame for.

Ivan's pale eyes suddenly lowered down to the blanket, he swallowed, and there was an awful crinkle of his brow and a part of his lips. Ivan looked so confused, so lost, and there was that awful sympathy again. Alfred didn't want it, but it kept creeping up. It was bad enough to wake up in a hospital out of nowhere, it was worse to realize that you had lost your memory, and then to top it all off to find out that you had brain cancer. That was great, just great, and Alfred leaned his head against the wall and turned his eyes to the snow falling outside.

The world looked pretty, but was ruthless.

Kiku finally continued.

"So, let's start planning it out, alright? In ten days, I want to operate again and remove what's left of the tumor. I'm hoping that we'll get every last bit of it, and it's likely that your memory will start to come back. Can I schedule you for the second operation, now that you're getting back up to speed?"

Silence.

Ivan looked utterly overwhelmed, as could be expected. Stared down at his lap, Ludwig still clenching his hand, and then he finally inhaled, and looked up, asking, "How long have I had it?"

"Two years, at least. Perhaps three."

Ivan cursed, shook his head, and muttered, "Damn. I didn't have a clue. Well. So, if I— I mean... Will it be— Am I going to—"

Ivan trailed off, and stared not at Kiku, but at Ludwig.

Ivan couldn't finish asking, 'Am I going to die?'

Ludwig suddenly sat down on the side of Ivan's bed, still clenching Ivan's hand within his own, and he lifted his other hand to place it on Ivan's back. Ludwig was fully ready to be the strength and will that Ivan needed to make it through, and Kiku was still smiling.

"Ivan. Listen to me. I'm not going to lie to you and tell you that we can get rid of this cancer. We can't. But, with another operation and radiation therapy, we can give you some more good years. If we don't operate again, you're not going to leave this hospital. Whether this treatment gives you five months more or five years has yet to be seen, but it's better than weeks, right? So much of your recovery depends on you, and how hard you fight."

That was the strangest way Alfred could have ever imagined telling someone that they were dying, because Kiku hadn't really said it directly in so many words. For the best, yeah, but it felt somewhat deceitful.

But Ivan wasn't himself, was still not completely sound, and so perhaps Kiku was right not to bomb him with too much misery. Ivan was easily led astray in this state, and Kiku used that.

Ivan pursed his lips and seemed deep in thought, cold sweat on his forehead and pulse still hammering away in his neck. Alfred couldn't help but feel for him. Five years wasn't an easy thing to swallow for a thirty-six-year-old man who should have been in the prime of his life. And more so when five years was the highest end of the spectrum, with five months being the lowest.

For an extra boost of encouragement, Kiku suddenly offered (whether it was true or not), "I once diagnosed a young girl with one year to live. I was so certain. Everything pointed to it. But you know what? She's _still_ alive. This was fifteen years ago."

Ivan lifted his head, and seemed a bit bolstered, but still so lost. Ludwig turned his gaze to Kiku, locking eyes with him from above Ivan's shoulder. Whatever Kiku and Ludwig were communicating with each other was lost on Alfred. Maybe Ludwig was praying that Kiku wasn't lying, that that really had happened, because that gave Ludwig something to cling to, something to aim for. If the doctor told Ivan five years, then Ludwig would stubbornly say, 'No, let's do forty instead.'

Alfred snorted lightly to himself at that.

Ludwig wasn't afraid of anything. The most stubborn man Alfred had ever met, by miles. With Ludwig, maybe Ivan really would make it.

Kiku prodded, "Well? What do you say, Ivan? Are you ready?"

Ivan glanced over at Ludwig, back at the doctor, to Alfred, back to Kiku, and then asked, out of nowhere, "I don't... I'm sorry, I'm just a little...confused. Can I— Can I call my mother?"

Kiku looked up at Ludwig, who very quickly shook his head, face scrunched and devastated, out of oblivious Ivan's sights.

A pang of hurt in Alfred's chest. A turn of his stomach.

Shit—hadn't thought about that, hadn't considered that Ivan wouldn't remember that his mother was dead.

A long, awful pause, and Kiku redirected, gently but firmly saying, "I'm sure. But...we should decide this first. Right now. You're very young. Let's move forward now, don't you think? Do you really want to just lie down and die here in this hospital in a few weeks?"

Ivan inhaled, looked over at Ludwig, still gripping his hand tightly, and after a while of staring at Ludwig's face, Ivan asked, softly, "Will you stay with me? It's just— I'm alone here. Having someone to talk to is nice."

Ludwig stared right back at Ivan, face very determined, and then he whispered, "I'll be at your side, the whole time. I give you my word."

Hey, wait, Alfred hadn't agreed to that...

Ivan smiled just a little, eyes flitting over Ludwig's face, and then he turned back to Kiku, braced himself, and said, "Alright! Let's do it. I'm ready. I'm not dying in here. I'm not. Hell no."

Kiku broke into a wide beam, and clapped Ivan on the shoulder with a noise of eagerness. He stood up, and Alfred fell into that void as everything was decided. Papers were signed. Dates were set.

Ludwig never once let go of Ivan's hand, throughout the hectic whirlwind.

When it was all said and done, when Kiku left, Ivan slumped back down onto the bed, head on his pillow, and he ran his palm down his face.

Ludwig leaned down, and whispered, "You handled that very well. Are you a professional death-defier?"

Ivan's eyes peered up at Ludwig from over his hand, and then Ivan started laughing, just a little, as Ludwig teased him. Ivan's hand fell to his side, he sighed, and Alfred hated the way Ivan looked up at Ludwig then.

Couldn't put his finger on it, but Alfred swore it was adoration.

"Oh, yeah," Ivan finally uttered back, eyes ever glued to Ludwig's face. "I always escape death. He can't ever get me. If a man can drive the way I do and still be alive, then I'm pretty sure I can't actually die. All the crazy things I've done. When I was twelve, a group of soldiers got drunk and left their tank open, and me and my friends snuck in and took it for a ride. We left it in the trees when we crashed, and ran away. I didn't get shot!"

Ludwig's eyes shot wide open, and he snapped his head down to Ivan, and sputtered, "You— You never told me that!"

Alfred shook his head to himself, when Ivan lifted his chin very arrogantly and actually smirked.

What a bastard!

Russian motherfucker, alright. Though that time Alfred wasn't sure if that sentiment was for Ivan or a group of drunk soldiers. Both, perhaps. Russia must have been a very...odd place.

Ludwig glared gently at Ivan, then sighed, and grumbled, "But I have seen your driving, and it is terrifying, thank you."

Ivan sat up again, once more very focused on Ludwig, and it was like Ivan had never been told that he was dying at all when he puffed out and tried to show off to Ludwig, saying, "We've been in a car together, huh? Guess I should say 'sorry'."

"Yes, you should," Ludwig very prissily uttered, and he sat once more in the chair beside the bed, and Alfred had no choice but to watch their annoying and affectionate banter.

For the next eight hours.

Ludwig was trying to kill him, Alfred was sure of it, by keeping him here so damn long.

Ivan didn't really question Alfred's presence nor his intentions, because to be quite honest Alfred was pretty sure that Ivan had very actually forgotten that Alfred was there at all.

The only good thing that came from that horrible day was that Ivan had lost his will about wanting to call his mother come nightfall, if only for today. At one point, Alfred heard him murmur to Ludwig, "I shouldn't tell her until I'm better. I don't want her to worry. I call her every morning, so she must be wondering where I'm at. She'll be mad at me if I don't call her tomorrow. She gets lonely."

Oh, that awful look on Ludwig's face, as he tried to appear stoic and unfazed and yet was clearly heartbroken.

Alfred contemplated how on Earth they were going to keep mama's boy here from attempting to call his mother for ten damn days. A daunting task, for sure, and Ludwig was no doubt already plotting.

When it was getting late, exhausted Ludwig suddenly broke into a great yawn, and Alfred was remarkably grateful when Ivan suddenly said, "It's late. You should go home. Get some rest. I didn't mean to keep you here all day."

Ludwig stared at Ivan quietly, longingly, seeing something he desperately wanted but couldn't have, and Alfred felt an awful twist of his stomach when Ludwig very suddenly cracked and reached out, resting his palm on Ivan's cheek.

Ivan froze up, as hypnotized as ever, and Ludwig's sad smile made Alfred shift his weight anxiously.

Alfred truly and honestly felt that if he had stayed home that day, Ludwig would have pressed forward in that moment and kissed Ivan.

Alfred stood up, to remind Ludwig that he was there, and Ludwig finally gave a short sigh, a fake smile, and withdrew his hand. He looked Ivan up and down, and said, "I'll be back tomorrow. Get some sleep. Don't give up."

Ivan stared breathlessly up at Ludwig long after Ludwig had removed his hand, and finally uttered, weakly, "Alright. I— Thank you. I'm glad that I met you."

After a second of silence, Ludwig smiled, in that beautiful way he sometimes did, and replied, simply, "Likewise."

Ivan looked astounded at that. A break of his composure, of his confidence. Ivan's arrogant mask slipped, and Alfred saw momentarily what coulda been himself beneath. A scared, lonely man, desperate for affection, who always tried so hard and was astonished that someone, after so long, was _seeing_ him.

All Alfred had every really wanted was for someone to want him, and for that he so easily recognized that expression on Ivan's face. He'd worn around Ludwig more than a few times.

Someone loving you...

Nothing like it.

Didn't want to understand Ivan like this.

So Alfred quickly fled, like the coward that he was, and took Ludwig home.

Home?

Yeah, this was someone's home, alright, but Alfred looked around when they walked in, and wondered whose, precisely.

Ludwig was out in space, up in the cosmos, lost in the atmosphere, and Alfred watched with horror and hurt as Ludwig wandered mindlessly into the bedroom and began unpacking the boxes he had put in the closet. Ivan's clothes were put back. Notepads and sketchbooks returned to the drawers.

Oh, that _hurt_ he felt.

He wasn't even sure if Ludwig was really aware of how much those simple actions terrified Alfred.

Was Ludwig so ready to take Ivan back and forget Alfred?

Alfred had been putting off doing as Gilbert said, had been delaying the inevitable, and now he was beginning to pay the price for his hesitation. Alfred hadn't put Ludwig in place, and now Ludwig was remembering how much he loved Ivan.

Alfred was really just a nobody.

Alfred would have fallen to his knees, grabbed Ludwig's hands, and begged him to stay, to keep on loving Alfred, not to turn around and go back down that old road, to stick with it. Wanted to remind him that Ludwig loved Ivan, sure, but he had said he loved Alfred, too. Ludwig couldn't just take that back because a circumstance had changed. It didn't work like that.

...did it?

Alfred didn't know what to do.

He watched Ludwig shine those shoes that had ever been by the door, dust off the piano, rearrange things in the closet, and it hurt like hell to realize that Ludwig, perhaps subconsciously, was preparing for Ivan to come home.

Home.

Right—Ivan's marital home. The home Ivan had bought for Ludwig. This was Ivan's house, not Alfred's, and Ludwig was intent. Ludwig never noticed Alfred staring at him from behind as his heart broke. Just wanted to grab Ludwig and beseech, pitifully, 'Please love me.'

Choose _me_.

But Ivan wanted that, too. Just like Alfred, Ivan wanted Ludwig to love him.

Alfred watched Ludwig bustling around well into the night, and knew then and there that if he didn't put his foot down and become Gilbert, he didn't stand a chance.

Ludwig turned his head, stared at the shoes by the door, and smiled.

When Ivan's memory returned, Alfred would have no choice but to be domineering and unbending, or else it would be Ivan walking through that door instead of himself.

Ten days to find his courage.


	30. These Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm curious; #TeamAlfred or #TeamIvan? XD (I already know for some of you guys...)

**Chapter 30**

**These Hands**

Ten days dragged like ten years, when someone was very audaciously attempting to steal the person you loved right in front of you and you couldn't do a damn thing about it.

Ivan was a fuckin' show-off just like Alfred, the most obnoxious and arrogant kind of man when he was in flirting-mode, and Alfred had rolled his eyes so much by now he was surprised they hadn't gotten stuck up there.

No one would have looked at Ivan then and guessed right off that he was battling a terminal illness, that he had just had major brain surgery, because Ivan was always smirking crookedly and puffed out and confident. Ivan wasn't handsome, and so had had to develop an excellent personality to snare others because they wouldn't have come to him otherwise. And man, was that personality ever overwhelming.

It was so easy to envision a sixteen-year-old Ludwig falling head over heels for this man.

Ivan was the one who was sick, who was weak, who was dying, who must have felt like every bit of him was fading away, but all the same Ivan hauled himself out of that bed when Ludwig came in the room, so that he could embrace Ludwig. And then the bastard would hold on to his IV with one hand for balance, and use the other to lift Ludwig clean off the ground in that one-armed embrace, the goddamn son of a bitch show-off motherfucker, some nerve he had gropin' Alfred's man, what was he, six foot five, two hundred sixty pounds, Alfred could take him, asshole, was gonna knock his block off as soon as he wasn't sick anymore—

Alfred was about to blow a gasket, as much as Gilbert ever did.

Blood pressure was through the roof.

Ludwig would just gasp a little, and then chide Ivan, saying, "Stop! You're going to hurt yourself. You need to rest."

Ivan would just croon back, "Nonsense," as he neatly put Ludwig back down on the ground like a doll.

And then the day after when Ludwig came in, the blinds were down completely, and when Ivan lifted Ludwig into the air and put him back down, Ludwig asked, "Shall I raise the blinds? You need some sunlight."

But Ivan smiled, so prettily, lifted Ludwig's chin in up in an affectionate bump of camaraderie, and quickly said, "No. You're afraid of heights, aren't you?"

Mesmerized, lips parted and stunned, Ludwig just nodded.

Little things came to Ivan, but not the important stuff.

Ivan would glance over at Alfred sometimes and crinkle his brow as if in thought, and Alfred tensed up, waiting for it to click in Ivan's head. Waiting for Ivan to come barging up and punch Alfred in the face as he cried, 'How dare you lay hands on my husband!'

Never happened.

Ivan just gave Alfred a droll look over, seemed bored and annoyed by him, but Ivan never really asked too many questions from Alfred. Accepted his presence, because Ivan was just so confused that maybe someone observing him so much for 'insurance' just didn't seem the most concerning issue. Rightfully so, no doubt, but Ivan certainly was easily led astray.

Easily redirected.

It had been surprisingly simple to avoid Ivan attempting to call his mother; the bedside phone didn't allow international calling, and when Ivan asked for his cell phone, it was Kiku who said, simply, 'No one can find it. It wasn't on you when you came in.'

That was true, but Ivan looked disheartened all the same, and it was very clear, when his mouth opened, that he desperately wanted to ask if he could borrow someone's phone to call his beloved mother. He never did though, because everyone around him was still a stranger.

Kinda hated that look on his face, though. Sad.

Ludwig took Ivan's hand, and said, soothingly, 'It's only a few days. After your next operation, you might remember where your phone is, and if not, then you can probably go home and call her from there.'

Ivan had smiled, even as Ludwig's eyes had been averted and he looked so sick.

For someone Alfred had been so frightened by, Ivan was almost childishly naïve, and believed every single thing that anyone told him in that state.

Ivan knew at some level that he was slowly dying, and yet never really seemed to truly comprehend it as he needed to. As if Ivan's mind could only focus on Ludwig, and nothing else. One track.

Alfred worried sometimes that Toris would swing by in the middle of the night and convince disoriented Ivan to sign something without actually reading it. Toris was slick, smooth, composed, and it was always a concern in the back of Alfred's mind.

So Alfred let Ludwig stay in the hospital from sunrise to sunset, even though it was horrible beyond all words.

Alfred was used to standing in corners for hours on end, yeah, was used to lurking in shadows and being entirely forgotten, but never before had he been forced to lean against a wall as an invisible spectator and watch a man sweeping his boyfriend right off his feet.

Infuriating.

Ivan was absolutely taken with Ludwig, for the second time and all over again, and in some way Alfred was having difficulty with that because it almost seemed as if it had been meant to be, Ludwig and Ivan. How could two people fall in love twice, just like that? If soul mates really did exist, Alfred was kinda worried that maybe Ivan and Ludwig were meant for each other. That left no room for Alfred.

The prince had come back into the fairytale, out of those shadows, and was once more very charming. Ludwig no longer looked down at Alfred from his tower, because he was too busy fawning over Ivan serenading him.

Alfred didn't even bother trying to distract Ludwig, because it was pointless; Ludwig was ensnared, and there was no getting through to him.

All day and all night, that was all that came out of Ludwig's mouth : Ivan, Ivan, Ivan.

How was Ivan doing, how was Ivan feeling, did Ivan remember something else today, oh, Alfred, do you think Ivan is sleeping well in the hospital, he must be so uncomfortable, would Ivan be released soon, would Ivan remember this, would Ivan remember that, was Ivan eating well enough, Ivan's hair was a mess and still needed to be trimmed, Ivan must be so bored cooped up there, could Ivan play the piano again, ooh Alfred, do you think I should take Ivan his guitar and see if he can play it, was Ivan lonely there at night, should Ludwig bring him a radio or a nightlight or a fuckin' this or that, blah blah blah.

Ludwig fretted constantly, endlessly, and seemed remarkably oblivious that maybe, just maybe, always talking about his husband was upsetting his boyfriend.

Sometimes, Ludwig was clueless, but Alfred didn't really have the heart to be mad at him, because Alfred was pretty sure that Ludwig was one little step away from snapping entirely and breaking his brain. Ludwig was a wreck in every way, and so Alfred gave him far too much leeway.

And, just as likely, every single word that came out of Ivan's mouth when they weren't there was about Ludwig. What sort of things did Ivan say to Kiku, to his nurses, when they weren't there? Was Kiku, as a romantic, throwing out little things here and there? Was Ivan saying to Kiku how handsome he found Ludwig, only for Kiku to raise his brows and say something like, 'You only live once—give it a shot!'

Alfred and Ludwig both fretted over Ivan these days, but for very different reasons.

Ivan, who was previously the guilty and monstrous member, was suddenly the most innocent on some level, if only because he was even more clueless than Ludwig. Alfred couldn't be mad at Ludwig, and even less so could justifiably be mad at Ivan.

Still, though, it always stung when Ivan and Ludwig smiled at each other like that.

On day five, they went back after sunrise, and Alfred nearly bumped into the doorframe because he was so damn tired.

Ludwig looked as wan and exhausted as Ivan, but tried so hard to hide it.

As always, when Ludwig showed his face, Ivan's entire demeanor changed, his face lit up, his pain faded, and Ivan was always very quick to sit up, respectfully, and give Ludwig his full attention. Ivan always looked like hell, as one could expect, but it was so easy to see how happy Ludwig being there made him. Just that look on his face, and how his eyes never once left Ludwig.

Ivan was only truly alive when Ludwig was around, and Alfred knew that keeping Ludwig away from Ivan would be the end of him.

The days were slipping away too quickly.

As usual lately, Ivan clumsily stood up as Ludwig rushed over, and that time, instead of lifting Ludwig into the air with one arm, Ivan leaned down and hugged Ludwig with both arms. Not a hug, really, but an embrace, because it was far more intimate than a casual hug. Ivan held Ludwig there in his arms for far too long, head pressed into Ludwig's, and Alfred's heart started racing because he wondered if Ivan had remembered something.

Adrenaline rush.

And jealousy, too, but he was almost too sick to worry about that.

Ludwig's hands flew up and clung to Ivan just as fervently, and it was very unpleasant to watch, as Ivan leaned down like that to push his face into Ludwig's hair.

When Ivan pulled back, Ludwig's hands came to a rest atop Ivan's broad chest, and Alfred braced up and was ready to lunge, because that was exactly how it had happened when Alfred had kissed Ludwig the first time.

That bastard—

But Ivan didn't kiss Ludwig, and it was Ludwig who spoke first to ask, worriedly, "Are you alright?"

Ivan was silent, eyes running over Ludwig's face, and for just a second there, with that calm, thoughtful, somewhat loving look on Ivan's face, Alfred was very certain that Ivan had remembered something. The way he gazed at Ludwig then.

If something had come to Ivan, he probably thought it was just a dream, for Ivan finally reached up and lifted Ludwig's chin up, as he sometimes did. A low whisper, barely audible to Alfred.

"I am now that you're here."

Alfred rolled his eyes for the millionth time, and settled in for another miserable day.

As Ivan dutifully ate the breakfast Ludwig brought him, he kept on glancing at Ludwig, over and over and over again, and it was obvious that he was up to something.

Before long, it became apparent.

Ivan made his face very serious, very stern, and he caught Ludwig's gaze and said, "Hey."

Ludwig sat up straight, all ears, and Alfred bristled up, because Ivan looked so oddly strict.

Ivan held Ludwig's gaze, so deadly serious, and then murmured, "Say! When I get out of here, we should go somewhere private and convert our potential energy into kinetic energy."

Ivan's face was ever stern, and that one went right over Alfred's head entirely, so he was rather startled when Ludwig's hand flew up to his mouth and he burst into loud, snorting laughter.

What the hell was that, some kinda engineering joke?

That serious expression faded as Ivan lit right back up, as Ludwig snorted away helplessly.

Ivan beamed at Ludwig's laughter, that charming smile that was so beautiful even though Ivan wasn't, and Ivan laughed a little himself as he breathed, "I'm sorry—I've waited my whole life to use that on someone."

Ludwig couldn't stop laughing, and turned his head briefly. In that second, in that moment, Alfred could see that Ludwig's laughter had become more of a sob, as his face utterly collapsed and his eyes squinted. He pushed past it, though, and because crying and laughing could look so similar in the right circumstance, Ivan just didn't notice Ludwig's brief breakdown.

Gone too quickly for cheery Ivan to notice.

Alfred wondered if Ludwig had nearly cried because, maybe, Ivan had already used that line on him once long ago. Déjà vu. A different man from a different life.

Ivan was... _different_ than Alfred had imagined, somehow. Far more charming and cheery than Alfred had ever envisioned. Funnier. Sweeter, in a way. Hated thinking about it, but it was impossible to ignore when this completely different man stared him in the face everyday, hitting on his goddamn boyfriend, who had been a few minutes away from being his fiancé.

This wasn't exactly the real Ivan, not the one that Ludwig had waited for anyway, but he was still a threat, even if he would only be here for a few more days. This was an Ivan with impulse control that was still compromised by the remaining bit of the tumor, still confused and disoriented, and Alfred understood that and was trying to be patient, but it was infuriating regardless.

He had never heard Ludwig laugh like that.

In a few days, Ivan may not have remembered any of this flirting, but Ludwig always would.

Kiku came in later, suave and composed as always, and when he removed Ivan's bandages to change them, Ludwig quickly asked, "Can I cut his hair first?"

Kiku lifted his brow, very nearly smirked, and stood up, giving Ludwig permission to do with Ivan as he would. Ivan, as usual, just stared at Ludwig breathlessly, awed and hypnotized.

A borrowed pair of scissors later, Ludwig was snipping away. Ivan's head was half shaved from the operation, and Ludwig sheared off the rest of it, in a sort of military cut. Which suited that jerk, granted, and Ivan looked far less homely after Ludwig's mothering.

Ludwig tilted his head, observing Ivan up and down, and smiled. Ivan stared at Ludwig relentlessly, never looked away from him, and Ludwig stared right back at him as Alfred was forgotten in the corner. Even then, without words, they were communicating.

They always were.

Ivan suddenly reached up and placed his hand over Ludwig's, holding it there.

An awful, burning rush of jealousy, but Ludwig was smiling and leaning farther down, and before Alfred could cause a distraction, Ivan had murmured, "I know this sounds stupid, but I... I can't explain it at all, but I feel like I've known you forever. Isn't that strange? I know we just met not too long ago, but it feels like I've been here before, with you. I want to be with you all the time. I shouldn't say that, I know, because we're coworkers, but I can't help it. I'm sorry if that bothers you."

Bothered? Hardly.

Alfred could only roll his eyes bitterly and turn aside when Ludwig took Ivan's hand within both of his own, and replied, so deeply, "Not at all. I feel the same."

That hurt.

So then...

Ludwig felt the same, he sure as hell did, and so where did that leave Alfred?

Ludwig took Ivan's huge hand within both of his own, lowered it down, and ran his eyes over it, as he turned it this way and that. Studying it very intensely, and Alfred knew why; because Ludwig missed Ivan's hands. Ludwig's brow crinkled a little, as he brushed his fingers over Ivan's in a far too intimate manner, and Ivan patiently allowed Ludwig to do as he pleased. It was a long few minutes that Ludwig ran Ivan's hand within his own, and Alfred felt somehow that Ludwig was trying to memorize every single detail of Ivan's hands.

Because, sooner or later, they would be gone.

Once again, jealousy faded and Alfred lowered his eyes to the floor.

Sleeping sounded like the best thing in the world, and the rest of that day dragged, as Ludwig looked down over and over at Ivan's hand as Kiku came back and wrapped Ivan's head back up.

That night, Ludwig sat down on the piano bench, stared away at the instrument, and he sat there so long that Alfred gave up on dinner and went to bed instead. Ludwig must have been imagining Ivan's hands running across the keys, and Alfred stared at the curtains fluttering in the heat.

Ludwig was losing about as much weight as Ivan, hardly eating as he was, work abandoned to sit there with Ivan every day.

Day six.

When they went into Ivan's room that morning, Ludwig's anxiety immediately turned into terror when he pushed the door open only to see an empty bed. A jolt of Alfred's heart at the panic on Ludwig's face, as he darted inside, and then came running back out, looking around with wide eyes of fright.

Alfred watched in confusion as Ludwig looked up and down each side of the hall and then called, loudly, "Ivan! _Ivan_!"

Ivan being missing, as sick as he was, was absolutely frightening. Had something gone wrong?

Ivan slipping away in the middle of the night—

Alfred reached out to grab Ludwig and try to calm him down, but wasn't quick enough because Ludwig had already darted down the hall towards a nurse, and Alfred could barely keep up with him as he flagged her down urgently.

"Please— Where is Ivan?"

A startled look, but the nurse quickly realized who Ludwig was talking about, and raised her hands gently in the air, saying, soothingly, "Hey, calm down! He's fine. Just fine. Take a breath. It's alright."

Ludwig didn't look very relieved, and pressed, "Where is he? Is he alright? Did something happen?"

The nurse smiled, very brightly, and said, "Calm down! He's fine. He's around here somewhere. He's been walking a lot through the halls. There are a few elderly ladies on this floor. Very early in the morning, he likes to take them on little walks up and down the hall. He's quite the Romeo! They love him. They don't have many visitors, so he keeps them occupied."

Alfred rolled his eyes, because Alfred was an asshole under it all, and didn't really care about Ivan being a surrogate son for lonely old ladies.

But Ludwig did.

After a second, Ludwig's shoulders dropped and he exhaled a short laugh, breaking into a smile that was absolutely breathtaking. His chest puffed out, his chin lifted, and there was that intense pride yet again, because Ivan was the perfect man in Ludwig's eyes and everything he did was worth fawning over.

Alfred was the cranky one, as Ludwig began wandering down the hall on the hunt for Ivan. Didn't take too long to find him, and Alfred hated that a little.

Fuckin' Ivan—of all people he had to compete against, it had to be Ivan, had to be that guy, had to be someone smarter than he was, someone more talented, someone more vocal, more charming. Someone that could sweep Ludwig off of his feet once more.

Sure enough, they rounded a corner, and there the big bastard was, IV held in one hand, and in his other he held the hand of a little old lady, who was so tiny and hunched over that she looked absolutely minuscule next to huge Ivan. He was walking slowly along with her, murmuring softly as they held a conversation.

Ludwig and Alfred were behind them, and Ludwig fell still for a moment, staring at Ivan from behind with nothing short of absolute exaltation. Adoration. Love. Ludwig's soft smile then was so pretty, and Alfred glared at Ivan's back like a scorned little kid.

In absence of his own mother, Ivan had apparently adopted several new ones, because, eh, once a mama's boy, always a mama's boy, Alfred supposed.

He was beyond bitter by this point.

Ivan must have sensed Ludwig somehow, because he was Romeo after all, for he glanced suddenly over his shoulder. When he saw Ludwig there, he broke into one of those smiles where his canines poked gawkily out, and he was very quick to turn into a room, probably the old woman's.

He came back out shortly after, alone.

As soon as the old woman was out of sight, Ludwig was on Ivan instantly, henpecking and fussing and fretting, as he so often did when Ivan was involved. It was still funny to Alfred, how stony and icy Ludwig commanded a boardroom full of powerful men that owned the world, but the very second scruffy Ivan came on scene, Ludwig turned into a puddle of mothering nerves.

"Why are you out of bed?" Ludwig fussed, as he grabbed Ivan's arm and began walking him along. "You need to be resting. You scared me just now, when you weren't there. Don't do that to me again! I nearly had a heart-attack."

Ivan smiled, despite Ludwig's chiding, looked content and happy, perhaps a little abashed, and Alfred could see how much Ivan genuinely needed Ludwig's presence. Only when Ludwig was around did Ivan light up like that, and without him Ivan would probably have just lied down and gave up. Alfred knew that without Ludwig Ivan would die, but he would absolutely keep Ludwig to himself all the same.

Ivan glanced over at Ludwig, sheepishly, and murmured, "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I got bored one morning and went on a walk. I found that lady out in the hall all alone. She looked sad. She's alone all the time. She forgets a lot of things, too, so... We just like to talk to each other."

Ludwig's face softened, despite his clear efforts to look stern, and Alfred could see how hard he was struggling not to smile.

Instead of berating Ivan more, Ludwig whispered, "What do you two talk about?"

Who cared?

Ivan lifted his chin, far more confident now that Ludwig had melted, and Ivan's smile then was quite pretty, because it reminded Alfred of Ludwig's soft one. As well as emotions and moods, it seemed that Ludwig and Ivan had an entire range of facial expressions that only the other could draw out.

It was so hard to remember the look on Ivan's face as he had held the knife over Ludwig, because all Alfred could see in his head now was Ivan waking up the first time and gazing upon Ludwig as a second sun.

"We talk about each other. She's asked all about my life. I told her as much as I remember, and she told me about her, as much as she remembers. We talk a lot about you."

Ludwig turned and looked up at Ivan, and damn if that look of awe didn't make Alfred's blood boil.

"Me?" Ludwig repeated, dazedly, and Ivan nodded.

Ivan had been the first person to ever see Ludwig there.

"I told her all about you. How much I look forward to seeing you." Ivan glanced down, coyly, and used what little energy he had to bump his shoulder into Ludwig's playfully. "I told her how handsome you are, that I think you're really a model, and she said I need to bring you by. She wants to see you, too. She is lonely, after all."

Ludwig barked a laugh at that, and Alfred felt himself grimacing. Ivan's lines were damn good, that was for sure. Charming indeed. Could see why Ludwig was so taken with Ivan.

Ludwig pushed his lips out pensively, and then said, "Well, then! Let's go see her, shall we?"

Ivan beamed, turned right back around, and led Ludwig to the room. Alfred lingered briefly behind, cursing under his breath and removing his glasses momentarily to run a weary palm down his face.

Just a few more days, and this man would be replaced with another.

Alfred finally trudged after them, and something alarming happened.

When Ludwig passed through the doorframe, Ivan fell to a halt abruptly, and turned his head to the side to stare Alfred down. Unlike when Ivan looked at Ludwig, his expression then was very tense, very annoyed, very stern, and quite unpleasant. Electric.

Another pang of adrenaline, this one brought on by being near a dangerous man.

Ivan's uncontrollable and impulsive flirting with Ludwig even in the face of death was one way that Alfred remembered that Ivan still had a little shadow in his brain, darkness, something other than himself holding the reigns, but another way Alfred remembered were in those rare moments like this, when Ivan's pale eyes were very deadly and very focused.

When Ivan was still dangerous, and still very capable of terrorization.

All Alfred really thought then was, 'Don't punch him'.

Don't punch him, don't punch him, couldn't punch him, Ludwig would pitch a fit and strangle Alfred with Ivan's IV cord—

Ivan leaned in, far too close to Alfred's face, and breathed, very softly and very dangerously, "It's funny that you only show up when he's here. If I didn't know any better, I'd think it was intentional. You just come by to see him?"

Alfred just lifted his chin, sneered, trying his best to stare Ivan down even as Ivan stood so tall above him.

Hm—maybe Ivan wasn't entirely oblivious, and he had noticed that Alfred only appeared with Ludwig and followed him endlessly around.

Alfred breathed right back, "What do you care? And what are you gonna do about it?"

Ivan was hardly intimidated, however sick he was, and merely lidded his eyes as so many other people did when they had looked down upon nobody Alfred, and without another word Ivan continued walking and followed Ludwig over to the bed.

Alfred watched him go, hairs sticking upright and shuddering a little. Too much adrenaline, and nowhere for it to go, because he couldn't punch a guy with cancer, goddammit. However sinister and violent Ivan may have been in the right circumstance, Alfred couldn't lay a hand on him. Impervious.

Alfred glanced down, subconsciously observing Ivan's hands.

Ludwig always had loved them, alright, even when they were hitting him.

The dark water still stirred there beneath the pretty surface.

Ludwig had no care about that, for now, coming over to the bedside of an old woman, who set her sights on him instantly.

Ivan, once more charming now he wasn't looking at Alfred, swept forward, bowed a little dramatically, and said, in his pretty voice, "May I introduce Ludwig. He's the one I told you all about."

The old woman sat up at the waist, shakily reached out to pinch Ludwig's cheek as Alfred rolled his eyes yet again, and she warbled, "I knew as soon as I saw him! He _is_ handsome."

Alfred sighed, stayed tucked back at the door near the curtain, out of sight, and listened to two big, powerful men turn into little kids in the presence of an old lady. Alfred, who should have been as eager for affection from a motherly figure as Ludwig, just felt annoyed.

Ivan swept Ludwig off his feet even when he wasn't directing attention to Ludwig, and that was something Alfred could never do.

He felt inferior.

Ivan and Ludwig sat there and kept the old woman company in lieu of her own absent family, until her doctor came in and shooed them away.

Ludwig was smiling away as they once more trekked out, and Alfred heard Ludwig whisper to Ivan, "You're wonderful."

Ivan's chest puffed out, as usual when he showed off, and Alfred swore that Ivan had glanced back at Alfred very nearly triumphantly. Yeah, yeah, jerk, just keep on showin' off, 'cause Alfred was sleeping in that bed now, and Ivan was a dead man walking.

A twinge of unease.

Sometimes, Alfred wondered if Ludwig really would end up staying with him, even after Ivan was dead. Alfred was a shitty guy, and being near this Ivan made that so much more apparent. Ludwig had always known, in a way, but now it must have been crystal clear.

Ludwig didn't once look at Alfred when Ivan was there.

Day seven.

Ivan's second surgery was fast approaching.

With every day that passed, Alfred could see that Ludwig was growing more nervous, more anxious, at the thought of Ivan going under the knife yet again. Despite his own feelings, his own exhaustion, Alfred did his best to reassure jittery Ludwig, tried to keep his spirits up, tried to keep him going. Ludwig had gone so far, done so much, and needed someone there go give him a little boost.

Alfred really did it for himself, though, so that Ludwig wouldn't forget Alfred was there.

So that night, when Ludwig was tossing and turning in bed, Alfred rolled over, grabbed him around the waist, hauled him in, and whispered in Ludwig's hair, "Be still. It's gonna be alright. If he pulled through when everyone thought he was a goner, I'm pretty sure he can handle the safer surgery."

A stillness, and then Ludwig exhaled. Arms around his neck.

"I know. I can't help it. I just want to be done with it. I can't stand seeing him like that. I can't help but worry."

Alfred stared away at nothing in the dark above Ludwig's head.

Felt as if he were adrift in the sea.

After a moment of Ludwig burrowing in his neck, there was another whisper, deeper and softer than before.

"Alfred. Thank you for being so patient with me. I know...you hate this. Him."

He did hate it, and him, beyond all words, and stayed silent. He wasn't really being patient so much as he was desperately attempting to cling to Ludwig, trying so hard not to let Ludwig drift.

Even though sometimes it felt like Ludwig didn't belong to him, and never really had.

They were quiet for the rest of the night.

And then, suddenly, it was the day before the surgery.

Ludwig woke up, and sat up to stare at the wall. Alfred could see him blinking too quickly, swallowing, and knew that today would be rough. And it was, because Ludwig always looked a breath away from tears with every single motion he made, and Alfred drove to the hospital that day, because Ludwig just looked so devastated.

Ivan was unbothered, as bright as ever when Ludwig came in.

Ludwig sat down, and didn't make much conversation with Ivan. Just kept on staring at him, and he often took Ivan's hand and ran his eyes over it. Ivan, sensing Ludwig's melancholy, was quieter than usual.

Awkward hours passed.

Alfred glanced around, and noticed that the flowers had started wilting.

Fitting, as Ivan faded away ever so slowly.

Kiku came in and out, went over things with Ivan, tried to be encouraging, but Ludwig just kept on swallowing. Looked so sick.

Ludwig stared at Ivan, stared and stared, and Ivan was smiling away, carefree and quite brave, trying to make conversation, but it became increasingly obvious to Alfred that Ludwig was collapsing. When the sun finally set, Ludwig broke. He very suddenly started blinking away, eyes glistening, turning his head so slightly in an effort to hide it. No way to, and everyone saw.

Alfred averted his eyes, and pretended that he didn't notice.

Ludwig was struggling, going through such emotional turmoil, and pretending that he didn't see Ludwig crying seemed liked the best course of action.

But maybe Alfred was wrong; Ivan sure as hell didn't pretend that he didn't see.

As soon as Ivan glanced over and noticed, he inhaled, swung his legs over the bed, and immediately reached out and rested a big hand on Ludwig's shoulder. At the touch, Ludwig utterly collapsed, hung his head and squinted his eyes and struggled to breathe, and Alfred could only watch as Ivan pulled Ludwig forcibly against his chest and pressed his face into his hospital gown.

Ludwig clung to Ivan, desperately so, and Alfred could see in Ludwig's white knuckles how much Ludwig _missed_ Ivan. Gripped him so tightly, so fervently, because he still loved Ivan and missed the feel of him, didn't want to ever let him go.

Ludwig could cling all he wanted to Ivan, but that wouldn't make Ivan stay.

Alfred observed, nearly apathetically, as Ivan whispered in Ludwig's ear and Ludwig cried into Ivan's chest. Had no energy at all left to be jealous or angry, because he really didn't even know what he was truly feeling at any given moment in time. Hating Ivan seemed natural and yet somehow counterproductive to what Alfred was trying to achieve, and that was on top of the fact that Alfred wasn't entirely certain _what_ , precisely, he was trying to achieve.

He felt confused all the time. As bewildered and disoriented as Ivan.

Ludwig clung to Ivan for what felt like hours, as Ivan was the one to reassure Ludwig rather than the other way around, and the drive home was very dreary. Ludwig fell into that mechanic daze he sometimes did, made dinner on autopilot, and when it was very late, Alfred hung over a coffee as Ludwig spoke softly about this and that.

Then there was a long silence.

Ludwig had trailed off, and suddenly was very quiet. Alfred, lost up in his head, didn't really notice at first, holding his coffee mug between both hands and staring off blankly. He turned his head, eventually, and just in time to see Ludwig's face crumpling as he abruptly and randomly burst into tears.

Startled, Alfred sat up straight, and stared over.

Ludwig completely collapsed, out of nowhere, and reached up to bury his face in his hands as he sobbed.

Alfred came out of his stupor, stood up and went over, and when he leaned down and embraced Ludwig around the neck, Ludwig grabbed Alfred's sleeve and choked out, in a whine, "I don't want him to _die_."

Alfred stayed silent, and stared off above Ludwig's head.

In the morning, Ivan would be under the knife again, but Ludwig was breaking down because no matter what anyone did, Ivan would eventually slip through Ludwig's fingers. Dreams always faded away, and so too would those hands that Ludwig loved.

Ludwig cried all night.

Ivan would once more sleep, and Alfred waited for the real one to show his face at last.


End file.
